#he got ripped away from the compass he was a part of and felt lost

[whoviandoodler]

[Image description: a digital drawing depicting overlapping scenes in shades of purple and gold. At the top of the image are two crying, sad eyes framed by dark curls. The pupils are white eight-sided stars. In the middle is varian, one hand held uncertainly to his chest while he's reaching out with his other. Thomas's hand, the back of which looks like a compass, is reaching for him. In place of varian's head theres a white eight-sided star. At the bottom of the image are thomas's hands cradling another white star, and they're amidst waves that the tears from the eyes at the top of the image created. There's rain of tears around the image. End description.]

Let me see the world through your eyes

[shamelessliarkickapow]

Arrvatarr! The Last Arrbender! Ch 2, part 3/3

Read it all on AO3!

Rated M Zutara pirates AU: Prince Zuko has been taken hostage by a pack of goofball pirates. The situation is not as funny to him as it seems to be to others involved.

Ch 2, Part 3/3

Zuko stood on the strange, steel-lined deck of the pirate ship, clutching his pitiful armful of possessions and watching from afar as the metalbender ripped his hull apart. It was surreal. He had lived on that ship for more than a third of his life and now it was on its way down to the ocean floor. Never again would he run sets with his soldiers on deck. Never again would he scour the horizon from the control tower. (His spyglass was another casualty lost to Sokka’s incredibly deep pockets.) Never again would he storm through those close steel hallways…

He was not certain whether the massive swell of emotion in his chest was grief or freedom.

Uncle stood beside him, watching the ship heave and founder in solemn silence. Or it would have been silent, if it weren’t for the distant feral cackling.

“Yaaa-hahaharharr! Down to the briny depths with ya! To salty lightless hell and leviathans’ gullets! I’ll scuttle yer mother, ya scurvy scum-suckin’-!”

“Sorry about your ship.”

Zuko looked to his other side to find the swab peering up at him, compassion shining in his large gray eyes.

“It’s hard… losing the things you’re used to,” the kid went on quietly, looking genuinely morose. Then he offered up a reassuring smile. “But at least, when the ransom gets paid, you still have a home to go back to. Right?”

Zuko frowned a little harder at him. He had withheld the fact of his banishment in case it might interfere with Iroh’s plan, and this kid’s weird misplaced sympathy was as suspicious as it was unwanted. Zuko was about to snarl at him, to shout until he flitted off to mind his own business, but he paused a beat too long.

“We have been away from the Fire Nation for many years now,” Iroh said quietly on his other side. “There is no telling how different it will be from what we remember.”

Zuko scowled straight ahead at his sinking ship. It didn’t really matter how much the Fire Nation may or may not have changed. He wasn’t going to see it. Maybe never again.

“The passage of time really can make the world unrecognizable,” the swab said, melancholy and reflective in a way that was not normal for a child.

Zuko shot him an even more suspicious look. But those large eyes only watched the disappearing ship with a vast sorrow.

“But Monk G-uh-my uncle… always said that traces of the past remain like echoes to remind us we aren’t ever truly alone.” He looked back up at Zuko with the faintest smile - which did nothing to clear the grief from his eyes. “And while memory can be comforting, true peace can only be found by accepting the present as it is. Although…” The smile puffed out. “…that can be pretty hard to do sometimes.”

Zuko peered down at the swab for a moment, then glanced at Iroh and found his uncle was watching the kid with the same stunned bewilderment he was feeling.

“What did I tell you about talking to our swab?”

Zuko spun around to find Katara there, her arms crossed and an annoyed eyebrow arched high. He jerked his head roughly at the kid, who was already darting off, chasing some small winged creature.

“He talked to me,” Zuko blurted, immediately painfully aware of how un-princely the defense sounded and how awkward it was to face her with his arms full of his clothes. He raised up his chin and squared his shoulders. “Dawn’s not far off, waterbender. I want that rematch.”

She blinked at him slowly, unimpressed. “You do realize a rematch isn’t gonna do anything to change your situation, right? Even if you got lucky and won-” Her chilly blue eyes scanned briefly over him like a spattering of raindrops. “- not likely - you‘re still getting ransomed.”

“I know that,” he said, quiet and firm to match the building pressure he felt between them, the growing burn of having her eyes on him. “I just want the satisfaction of putting you in your place. And I don’t need luck to do it.”

Katara scoffed and her eyes heated for a second, then she offered him an overly sweet smile. It was almost like how she smiled at the kid, but with a sharpness to her eyes that made Zuko’s pulse throb in his throat.

“Fighting time is over,” she said. “It’s brig time for firebenders now. And if you try to fight me before I agree, I’ll just assume it’s because you’re trying to escape - which… refresh my memory? What would that suggest about you and your honor, huh?”

The way she looked at him, smiling with her teeth out so mean and so pretty, filled Zuko with a driving urge to somehow wipe the ridicule right off her face. He clenched his teeth and struggled to think of some cutting words that could do the job better than a little fire or a hard kiss.

“That’s what I thought.” Her smile turned to a lazy smirk in victory and she spun away for the gunwale. “Sokka and Suki will show you the way to your accommodations.”

“We will?” Sokka asked from where he and the warrior had stood spectating. At a sharp look from his sister, he raised his hands. “That’s right, that’s right - we will. Do that thing you said.”

Suki shrugged and led the way down the hatch and Iroh followed, but Zuko stubbornly stayed put. Completely ignoring him, Katara leapt overboard and, at the head of a roaring wave, surfed out toward the diminishing hump of steel still visible and the somewhat-less-confident earthbender sitting atop it.

“Tell ya what,” Sokka said, suddenly standing beside him. “I’m tired right now because, you know, up all night pirating, but give me a few hours and I could go for a rematch.”

Zuko shot him a disdainful sideways look. “You. You want to fight me.”

The guy shrugged, a mild smile still hovering about his mouth. “Swords only, just to first blood. No limb-chopping or throat-slashing. Call me curious, but a firebender who keeps swords crossed over his bed like a shrine has gotta be pretty confident in his ability to use them.”

Zuko fully turned his head, trying to suss out what was really motivating this challenge. Wounded pride, maybe. An insecure, untrained swordsman surrounded by superior fighters. Who were also girls - the Water Tribe cared a lot about that stuff, didn’t they? He’d had a poor showing today and he probably expected to beat a firebender with swords pretty handily. Because most firebenders would neglect the practice of weapons when they could be bending instead.

But Zuko wasn’t most firebenders.

“When I win,” he said darkly, “I want to keep my swords.”

Sokka’s smile spread like this was actually kind of funny. “Sure, buddy. You win, you can keep your swords. And if I win-” His eyebrows quirked upward suggestively. “-you tell me all about that sensual creature in the picture.”

“Ugh,” Zuko snarled and, too disgusted and irritated to stall any longer, stalked off in the direction Iroh had disappeared.

Shortly thereafter, Zuko found himself locked with Iroh in a cramped iron cell with two bunks and a bucket. He could not stop pacing the short distance from wall to wall.

“I hope your plan involves some way of getting us out of this cell,” he snarled, “because if we have to wait in here the whole time it takes those idiots to figure out they aren’t getting any money, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Yes,” Iroh said dryly, his hooded eyes following Zuko’s quick back-and-forth progress. “Truly maddening.”

“So what is it, Uncle?” Zuko demanded, stopping and peering down a little beseechingly at the old man. “What’s your plan?”

Iroh blinked back up at him for an instant, then assumed a calculating look. “When the pirates discover that the Fire Lord is not willing to pay for our safe return,” he said, waving a hand before him as if slowly revealing a grand truth, “they will let us go.”

Zuko’s stomach dropped seemingly through the deck at his feet and went sloshing around in the bilge. “That’s your plan?”

Iroh shrugged. “They do not appear to be entirely normal pirates, my nephew. I do not think this is a group generally comfortable with killing hostages.”

“But that doesn’t mean they’ll just let us go! They’re renegades and money-grubbing thieves! They stole everything down to the coal out of our ship, Uncle. These are desperate people. They won’t release us until they can squeeze some kind of profit out of us. They’re going to want something in exchange for our freedom.”

“Yes, my nephew,” Iroh said slowly, thoughtfully, watching Zuko resume his pacing, “I fear you are correct…”

“But what can we possibly offer them? They already have everything we owned.” He cast a disparaging eye over the heap of possessions Iroh had managed to squirrel aboard. The stupid monkey statue sat on top of the pile like a gaudy little king. “Everything worth stealing, anyway.”

Iroh emitted a faint gasp. When Zuko turned to look at him, his eyes were wide and round with shock. “Prince Zuko,” he cried softly, “a most devastating prospect has just occurred to me!”

Zuko was… a little suspicious. His uncle was never this surprised about anything. Whatever he was about to say, it had very likely occurred to him a while ago.

“What is it?” Zuko bit out.

“We have fallen completely under the power of these nefarious miscreants-”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. Miscreants, they most certainly were. Nefarious… maybe a little. What gave him pause was the tone of voice Iroh used, as if deeply disapproving of very bad behavior - like he was describing the villain from one of the stories Zuko remembered from his childhood.

“-with no chance of rescue or escape-”

The old man had insisted they swear those oaths…

“-and now we may be forced into most shameful acts to win our freedom.”

Iroh paused, tugged his beard thoughtfully and fixed Zuko with a severe, bordering alarmed expression.

“Prince Zuko… I fear for your virtue.”

[respectfulkitfistosimp]

The Dear Priestess

A Khonshu x reader fanfic PT3 finale

PT1 here PT2 here

And they just disappeared, Marc didn't come to yell at you, all your calls went into voicemail and Khonshu wasn't telling you anything, you would even go as far as to say that he ordered his knight to keep you in the shadows. It wasn't the first time they had done this, both of them liked to run away from their feelings which tasked you with looking for them and help them with whatever was their problem. You were sick of such immaturity and secrecy, and if it wasn't because this time you felt like they really needed help you would have stayed on London. You sat on the floor with your legs crossed and your staff resting horizontally on top of your knees, the soft sand Infront of you that you got thanks to Khonshu started getting drawn on by an invisible force, the shape of two pyramids made you sight out the frustration from your body.

—Of course it's fucking Egypt.

You got up without cleaning the sand on the floor fearing that any more minutes not spent on getting closer to them would only drive them further from you. The only thing you grabbed was a backpack and as you looked inside the closet the shine from a metallic box caught your eyes, inside you found one syringe filled with some liquid you could remember what exactly it was, nonetheless you added it to your luggage along with a comically large amount of cigarettes. In no time you landed on Cairo, stomping your way thru the city with an expression so severe anyone would think they were looking at a demon, you didn't even bother to get a room as you had resolved that you would find Marc to land a punch on his face and maybe even scold Khonshu.

Setting out into the city with the living sin that was your backpack you rented a 4x4 to look thru the dessert, your staff on one of your hands worked like a compass showing you were to go, on the hour that you had been traveling through the dunes without fear there where at least three empty boxes or cigarettes on the back seat, and now four as you opened a new on. Finally you found them, Layla and Marc we're discussing but stoped when they saw you pull up, of course they didn't know it was you so Marc summoned the suit, if only he knew how his decision would turn out on his favor. The anger in your body manifested itself by opening the door for you so you wouldn't lose one second of your precious time, he didn't even register you before you practically punched his teeth our of his mouth, you even made him fall on the ground from the shear force of impact.

—This is your fault—you sentenced, stretching out your hand to help him stand.

—Who is this Marc?—questioned Layla, she didn't look one bit mad at you..

—This—he took your hand, it was impossible to stay mad at you—This is Khonshu's priestess, Dr (f/n) (l/n).

You walked past him over to Layla and shook her hand, you had heard so much about her from Marc, you heard that she was smart, beautiful and knowledgeable on every aspect of life. Part of what he told you about her you corroborated on one look, everything else was checked when you glanced at the cloth scattered on the bonnet of the truck, you didn't exactly know why they needed this yet it felt like it was somehow either Marc's or Steven's fault.

—Steven lost the scarab—said Layla, about to summarize the last weeks—So we're trying to find the tomb of a pharaoh to get to Ammit's ushebti before Harrow, or at least stop him before he releases her.

—Put on the suit again Marc.—you said, he obeyed oblivious to the punches you aimed at him, and he just took them, surprisingly understanding of how you felt—You better let Steven front before I force him to.

As soon as he heard those words he got angry, he definitely didn't need another Layla to tell him who should take the body a who shouldn't, Marc threw a tantrum and ripped of the mirror of the truck, if only you got a cent every time he threw one of those you should be rich by now, then he grabbed the pieces of cloth and walked a few steps before doing what you both told him. Steven arranged them perfectly to form a constellation that Layla scanned on her tablet and next the sky, yet it didn't work.

—It's not that easy.—you said walking to them—The position of the stars varies thru time, but don't worry, I know someone who can help.

Khonshu appeared on the perfect moment as if you two had rehearsed this before, you did rehears a few cool lines you though you could use but this wasn't one of them. Like the dramatic god he was he didn't acknowledge any of you as he just walked towards a dune, it was at moments like this were you cursed your sharp intuition seeing as you didn't like where this was going, especially since you knew what the price of changing the night sky was and you weren't ready to loose him, you wanted to refuse, to find another way, but there wasn't. So all that was left was to accept his destiny, to make his sacrifice worth it, and as he slowly disappeared you called out to him, he reached out to you yet before you could grab him he was gone. Your unconscious body dropped to the floor of the pyramid of Giza, Khonshu's last effort was to put you put of harms way, Marc and Layla knew how to fend for themselves but you didn't, you were to volatile and careless when angry. He couldn't loose you.

You woke up, feeling as light as a feather, you looked around you to find your old apartment and there was a body looming over papers and books, the body of a younger you was studying, this final was one you couldn't forget, this was the third time you were studying for it. On the corner of the room Khonshu was sitting on your bed looking at you with an air of proudness surrounding him. Once again your were moved somewhere else, this place the source of your nightmares, the inside of a church. The caskets of your parents were infront of you and behind you was your family crying, yet the you of that moment wasn't crying, you just looked at the casket as if you couldn't believe that they were dead and you couldn't even when you walked towards it and opened the lid. Your family screamed to you and dragged you away from them, the faces of your parents had been partially reconstructed and were missing chunks of bone and flesh, even if their eyes were glued shut you noted that your father was missing one. Your ghostly face looked away from the other you that was being dragged out of the church and looked up, behind the casket stood your god, sadness dancing on his cold features as you opened your eyes to notices you had shifted places once more. This time you opened your eyes to your current body, it was laying there on the ground, color drained from it's face as if it was nothing more that a corpse and perhaps it was. There was a noise that caught your attention, Layla saw your body and moved to it to start shaking it in desperation, the way she herself was shaking caught you by surprise it was as if she was your childhood friend and you couldn't take it, the way your core pained forced you back into your body and with one big gulp of air you came back to life. As Layla hugged you, you looked around to all of the ushebtis displayed and there it was, your god's ushebti calling out to you made you stand on your shaky legs, Layla soon came to your aid and supported you as you waddled to it, you paused scared at the million bad thoughts that moved on your mind clouding your judgment. Seen this, Layla took it and gave you his ushebti, she wanted for you to hurry and brake it but she wasn't going to tell you. Finally you lifted your right arm were the stone rested and threw to the ground with all of your strength.

—I do not sense Marc Spector in this world—said the newly released Khonshu, with his release came back the strength you had lost—Yet my priestess is alive.

—Bad weeds never die—you answered looking up to him, with power came anger and you needed to dispose of it—I don't care whether you are going to become anyone's avatar or not Layla, I just hope to fight by your side—she nodded in response.

The both of you runned on different directions, you tried to find somewhere that led you outside, it was still the middle of the day, you weren't meant to fight but you would do anything for your god, soon enough there was a loud noise and followed by the walls shaking, you runned until you found a room with a part of it's wall destroyed that showed you the night sky, from afar you saw Marc flying. Placing your staff between the cracks on the floor you summoned your robes, with not your hands grabbing onto the staff a flow of power from both the moon and monument lit carvings on the ground as you performed a small spell, a spell that placed an illusion to any ousiders as it would be detrimental for normal people if they saw any more spiritual nonsense. Now into the real deal, you ripped off your staff from the ground to move outside of the pyramid, on the top of it was Harrow feeding Ammit, 'there has to be something I can do', you thought as you moved slowly towards him before you stoped on you tracks when you saw Marc at the same time as Harrow, as these two started fighting you runned up to the top with the whisting of your lungs ringing on your ears. On the top you saw a sight that you thought only the gods or the avengers would see, Kaiju sized Ammit and Khonshu fight against each other, and you hated to admit it, but your god didn't stance a chance against her. You took a look behind you as you bathed on the light of the moon, the grip on your staff creating glowing cracks on it. This was such a bad idea but for you god you would do anything. You walked as far back as you could and sprinted before taking the highest jump any human could make, you copied the way in which Marc grabbed his cape to put yourself on the perfect posicion as you were about to commit sacrilege.

—May god forgive you, 'cause I sure fucking won't!—you screamed drawing Ammit's attention to you and before she could even lift up her arms you pierced her left eye with the spear, releasing all of the power stored in it on one go.

This power backfired on you as it sent you flying in the air on the direction of the city, maybe this plan wasn't such a bad idea as you saw Marc struggling to fight off Harrow and Layla cornered while being shot at, so with outmost care you landed and walked up to Harrow light on your feet. 'if only I had brought that syringe' you idealized as it materialized on your hand, once close enough you stabbed him on the neck with it and unloaded it's content onto his bloodstream, just as he was turning around you punched him in the face, the satisfaction of doing so sending you back to the first time you saw him. Yet it all came to a halt when you saw who you thought it was Marc massacre the guys who were shooting at Layla, then he looked at Harrow and up to you, you could swear that wasn't neither Marc nor Steven on control, but he was dangerous and ready to kill Harrow and you couldn't allow that, he wasn't about to take the easy way out after killing so many people.

—Don't protect him querida—he threatened you.

—I just blinded a god, what makes you think you can boss me around knight?—he definitely could take you on a fight, but with the full moon you could play with his mind as if it was a toy.

He runned at you but before he could do anything you hit him in the chest with your open hand, forcing Marc to front.

—There is no time to talk—You said before Marc could even open his mouth, looking at Layla and freeing her with a swift movement of your hand you pointed at your back to Ammit dragging Khonshu's body—I trust one of you knows how to beat CrocoGodzilla?

—We have to trap her in a mortal body—she answered and looked at Harrow, you liked whatever she was thinking.

Once again drawing power from the moon the three of you took Harrow's body back to the pyramid, Layla and Marc locked hands as they started chanting, you stood behind Harrow's head and with your staff held high chanted as well.

Ammit had finally been imprisoned, Khonshu came back to the room and ordered Marc to end it, to kill them and even though you moved out of his way you didn't like that idea one bit, neither did Layla, who voiced her complain. Marc was right on saying that he wouldn't do it, he looked at you hoping that you would say no as well and you did. Your god was angry, you felt it, yet you first celebrated Marc's and Steven's release and then walked outside noticing the damage that the fight between the gods made, you lamented the fact that such an incredible monument was caught on the cross-fire, but before you could notice anything else you saw him, sitting on one of the destroyed rocks, walking over to him and standing in front of him you put your hand on his chest, looking for any torn bendages or stab wounds without hearing the choked gasp that left Khonshu.

—I know you are angry and disappointed—you said and looked up to him, your hand still on his chest, hoping that it would bring him any support—But I also know that you have something under your sleeve.

—You know me too well.

Long time after that day, you were seating inside a limousine next to Khonshu waiting for Jake to bring Ammit and Harrow to you, you couldn't help but admire the way your god looked, if he showed up on cameras you would have already taken at least a hundred pictures of him.

—You have no shame dear—he said with a chuckle, your eyes still locked on him.

—I could say the same to you, that's Steven's suit you're wearing.

—Don't name that worm again—answered Khonshu while grabbing your chin.

The sound of the door closing turned you face to the body infront of you, Ammit laughed after seeing you sitting next to him.

—Oh please Khonshu, you have fallen for a human?—she said and laughed some more.

—I have and let me remind you Ammit, this human stabbed your eye—you resisted a smile with all your might.

You and Ammit were definitely surprised by your god's answer, she wanted to add another comment but you were told to step out of the car, once outside you lit up a cigarette and walked to the other passenger side of the car as you saw the flashes of the gun. 'Honestly, why order me to get out? I have seen far worse things than a man being shot' you thought as you sat on the passenger seat.

—No smoking on my car, querida—said Jake, you threw your half smoked cigarette out the window, next you blew the smoke from your lungs to his face—charming.

You didn't like Jake Lockley one bit, but you loved Khonshu.

[little-diable]

Insecurities - like a whisper in the early morning - Jasper Hale (smut)

Happy Twilight Tuesday babes! This was requested by the sweetest anon, I hope you had something similar in mind. Keep on requesting for TT and our Wendigo Wednesday. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is insecure about herself and the volume of her moans, Jasper is right there to take her worries away

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, oral (f), praise kink, insecurities

Pairing: Jasper Hale x fem!reader

It wasn’t unusual for the two lovers to take their time behind closed doors. Jasper would care for her, having to make sure that she was comfortable enough, not wanting to rush the soft touches that were writing love letters on her skin. And (y/n) admired and appreciated his carefulness, the tender kisses he would press against her throat, the soft words he spoke.

But nevertheless, she couldn’t stop her insecurities from rushing through her whenever she would begin to let herself fall, weightless in the fog of pleasure that moved through her body and mind. For years now she had struggled with her movements when she got tangled in the sheet, followed by the volume of her louder sounds.

Jasper had never cared about any of those things, didn’t even pay any mind to them, he loved her with all his heart, wanting to hear every sound her vocal cords produced. Whenever he would feel her insecurities swapping over her, he would make sure to praise her, to reassure her that she was safe in his grasp.

“Jas’, stop teasing me.” Her whines filled her bedroom, body hidden behind a big shirt and a pair of soaked through panties. Jasper was hovering above her, kissing down her neck with a widening smirk. The room was closing in on them, making them awfully aware of the buzzing atmosphere.

“Patience, darlin’.” His cold hands ran up her upper body as if he was trying to part the sea with the incoming tide. Skillfully he was undoing her bra, shrugging her shirt and bra off  her frame, eyes landing on her hardening nipples, the skin of her breasts that was littered in hickeys and fading bite marks.

Their lips crashed together like two magnets that have been searching for one another in the darkness, like heat and cold meeting in the middle of the seasons, dancing with one another. Jasper’s tongue ran along the seam of her lips, begging her to let him in, to tangle itself with her tongue.

Whenever his lips would touch hers, her heart skipped a few beats, missing the second and fourth tune, singing an uneven song he found himself in awe with. She was a masterpiece in every way possible, every inch of her skin had been carefully crafted, like a violin that had been formed by hands of the masters of the Renaissance, strung together like a prayer made in front of the holy father above.

Her nipples rubbed against his cold thumbs, teased by the calloused skin he pushed against her soft one. Moans slipped from her lips, moans that grew louder with every passing second, shamelessly bouncing off the walls.

Almost like a child lost in a crowd of people, her eyes search his, hoping that he would guide her ship back into the safe haven, through the rough waves of pleasure her body would live through in the upcoming minutes. Jasper’s touch was the compass to her destination, pointing into the right direction.

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. My gorgeous girl.” His accent thickened, lips meeting her breasts, kissing up to her left nipple, sucking on it the same moment he began to roll his hips against hers. (Y/n) felt his growing bulge press against the fabric of his dark jeans, rubbing her clit through her panties.

“Jas’, I need more, touch me.” Her words spluttered over her lips like a book ripped open, exposing dark pages filled with printed sentences that told a story of their own. He didn’t need any guidance, pressed one last kiss to the valley between her boobs, hands tugging her panties down her trembling legs.

She was prepared for whatever may come upon her, though the feeling of his cold fingers dancing up her inner thighs had her gasping in surprise, head momentarily lifted off her pillow. He shushed her with his finger pressed against her pulsing clit, the bundle of nerves that had begged for his attention for the past minutes.

His touches blurred together, no longer could she distinguish between the praises he whispered and the fingertips he brushed through her slit, scooping up drops of her arousal. Her body was calling for him, begging him to step up his game, adding pressure and urgency to his touch.

“Like that, pretty girl? Tell me what you need.” Jasper’s smirk stuck to his lips as if he was staring into a mirror, reflections dancing through the silvery plate. He teased her entrance, lowering his mouth to her clit, brushing his tongue over it.

“Fuck me with your fingers, please.” (Y/n) felt herself falling, thighs forced open by his arms, keeping her locked in place as he pushed two of his cold fingers into her heat, perfectly stretching her in preparation for his cock. He fucked her tightness, wasn’t slow and steady, though rough and urgent, wanting to hear every sound that left her in the silence of the morning.

He made her feel weak, robbing her strength with his kisses, the lips he pressed against her clit. The moment he curled his fingers upwards, she screamed out his name, arching her back off the mattress, pressing the back of her head further into her pillow. She was drowning, ready to pass out as the current kept on ripping her down the river, but he wouldn’t let go of her, not yet.

“Cum for me, darlin’. Be as loud as you want, it’s just us.” She didn’t need to hear another word, ripped her lips open to give her sounds enough space to reverberate through the room. Her body trembled and shook, guided by her orgasm, the bolts of electricity that brushed through her like a thunderstorm.

“Atta girl, you’re doing so well. Do you want more? Talk to me.” Jasper kept fucking her with his fingers, pushing her through her first orgasm, wanting to her the roughness of her voice, the hushed words she’d speak. (Y/n) panted, her chest heavily rose and fell, drops of sweat ran down her body, already gone.

“Can I ride you? I want to feel you.” With the click of his tongue, Jasper rose from her bed, cleaning his fingers with his tongue before he began to undress himself. His cock was pressing against his boxers, begging to be freed, leaking drops of precum that would get mixed up with her arousal.

“Look at you, you’re so perfect, my darlin’.” (Y/n) made herself comfortable in his lap, her fingertips traced along his muscles, the abs he had carefully formed over the past centuries. Even though Jasper found himself comfortable with the darkness that nestled in his heart, (y/n) saw something so divine inside of him, pure and good, nothing evil that lingered in his body.

She sank down on his cock, fighting against the need to cover her mouth with her hand, fearing that her sounds would grow louder. But Jasper was having none of it, he interlaced their fingers, keeping them pressed to his chest, holding onto her as she began to build her rhythm, bouncing on his cock.

His every vein rubbed against her walls, teasing her tightness, pushing her further down the rabbithole. He soared beneath her, jerking his hips upwards, burying his cock inside her heat, meeting her thrusts with his moans getting tangled with hers.

“Squeezing me so perfectly, my gorgeous mate, I love you.” His words made her heart jump in delight, urging on her movements, coaxing her moans out of her like a cough so forceful to knock her straight off her feet. Her body was burning, soul and mind, dancing together like life and death.

She threw her head back, no longer able to worry about the volume of her sounds, nor how she looked placed on top of him, fully focused on the feeling of his cock ripping her in half. For a moment she felt a wave of pride rushing through her as Jasper moaned her name, wanting to feel her squeeze his cock once again, hoping to hear the sweet moans her throat kept on producing.

“Cum with me, darlin’.” (Y/n) bounced up and down on his cock once again before she let go, allowing her orgasm to knock all air out of her lungs, tickling her limbs with its silent whisper, pushing her further into his embrace. Jasper kept her still, not moving as he gave in, feeling his heat spreading through her, sticking to her skin, making a mess on his lap.

“My perfect girl. I got you, let me clean you up.” He kissed her, carefully placing her down on the bed before he disappeared into her bathroom, turning on the shower, returning with a warm washcloth. Jasper would pamper her, would work to take away all her insecurities and sorrows, wanting to make her feel as admired, appreciated and alive as possible.

Follow my sideblog @little-diableswriting for taglist reblogs

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

Hey honey! You think you can make a part two to the recent fic with Steve? where the reader and Steve are both turned to super soldiers and both go into ice? Steve’s found first and thinks the reader is dead until the reader pops up in an avengers interview years later with Bucky by his side because he saved Bucky?

Sorry baby I already commented this but I just thought I’d send it here too❤️

A/n: I am LIVING for the pet names, thank you for sending the request here! It makes it easier for me. I hope you like it!!

Plot: Requested

Pairing: Steve rogers x Male reader

Y/n: Your name

L/n: Last name

H/c: Hair color

E/c: Eye color

Warnings: Angst, cussing, temporary death, reader is also a super soldier, fluff

Word count: 1302

As the plane nose-dived towards the cold ocean, all Steve could think about was Y/n, the man he loved more than anything. His head turned to the side, locking eyes with the other man, any words Peggy was saying was blocked out as the lovers wordlessly gave their goodbyes. The H/c haired mans fingers intertwined with his own, bringing Steve’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles.

The plane hit the water with a thundering crash, and Jesus it was colder than anything Steve could’ve imagined. He squeezed Y/n’s hand as hard as he could as they sank into the abyss, selfishly happy that if they died, they at least died together.

Death was colder than Steve thought it would be, but that belief slapped him in the face as his baby blue eyes fluttered open, met with harsh sunlight shining into his eyes. For a second, he thought it was all a dream, looking to the side to find the spot next to him empty.

“Y/n?” His voice was hoarse, throat burning with apparent disuse. His gut twisted, a sick feeling festering in him. The super soldier had escaped the room and had come to an alarming conclusion. He was no longer in the 1940’s, he was in the 2010’s now and he was all alone.

The thought hit him harder than a train, making his knees weak and it felt as though there was a hole where his heart used to be. In such a short span of time (For him) he’d lost the two most important people in his life. Apparently when they’d found Steve in the ice, Y/n was nowhere to be seen. His body had never been recovered and Steve had to live with that guilt and pain every day for the rest of his life.

He was given a distraction in the form of the Avengers, a group of extraordinary people fighting the battles no one else could. It didn’t fill the hole in his chest, but he no longer felt so alone in this world. He had a purpose again, saving as many people as he could with his newfound family.

The only thing he had from his past was a photo of Y/n that he kept in his compass, the H/c haired man’s head was thrown back in laughter, his beautiful E/c eyes screwed shut as he laughed at some cheesy joke Steve had told.

Every day he missed the other man, but over time the pain became easier to handle. He pushed himself into his workload, designating himself as the captain of his team. He fought many battles and over time he selected new enhanced individuals to join the team.

Today was another day of interviewing people Nick Fury had specifically chosen out, himself and the other Avengers picking them apart to decide if they were good enough to join his team. The super soldier was honestly ready to call of the rest of the interviews for the day, so far no one had even slightly peaked interest, and he was beginning to believe that the team was fine the way it was.

Imagine his surprise when two familiar faces he hadn’t seen in 70 years walked in. Bucky, God how he had missed his best friend, looked very different. His brunette locks had grown long and shaggy. His once shining blue eyes were now dulled, a haunted look permanently reflecting in his orbs.

Then there was Y/n, he looked a bit different, but he still made Steve’s heart pound and made his knees feel like jelly. Steve was out of his chair before he could even process it, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor falling on deaf ears.

He had no control of his body as he moved forward, ignoring all the questions and looks his team was throwing at him. His arms were around Bucky before he could even think about it, a shaky sigh leaving his lips. He didn’t miss the way the other man tensed up, before hesitantly hugging back.

After a moment he pulled away and his attention was turned towards the man he had been endlessly longing for since the moment he woke from the ice. “Y/n…” It hurt Steve to realize how odd it was to say his name once again, part of him was terrified this was just a dream and he’d wake up alone in bed once again.

His baby blue eyes found the E/c eyes he dreamed about nightly, his heart twisting. Y/n’s hands cupped his cheeks, a delicate smile playing on his lips. “Hey Stevie.” Oh, how he’d missed hearing his voice, and hearing that nickname. He leaned into the other man’s touch; eyes fluttering shut.

An embarrassing sound left his lips as Y/n kissed him, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He brought up his shaky hands, cupping the sides of the other man’s neck, ignoring the indignant sound Tony made as the two men kissed.

Steve refused to pull away until his lungs begged for air and his head felt fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. His forehead rested against the H/c haired man’s own, heart pounding wildly against his rib cage.

“How are you alive?” Steve whispered, thumb brushing against Y/n’s pulse to reassure himself that he was actually there. The sound of Y/n humming met his ears, causing his body to relax a bit.

“Hydra.” The reply felt like a punch to the gut, he knew Hydra had still existed, not long ago they’d found out shield had been infiltrated by the organization. The idea of those monsters having Y/n or Bucky made him sick to his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to rip them apart with his bare hands.

When Steve didn’t reply, Y/n continued.

“Guess they found the ship and grabbed me; I don’t remember when. I remember bits and pieces and then I found Bucky there too. Took a lot of time and a lot of planning but I finally got us out about a year ago, when you had brought down shield. After that we hunted Fury down and set all of this up.”

Steve could tell it was heavily simplified, probably not wanting to spill his and Bucky’s story to a room of strangers.

There moment was broken by Sam speaking up, an eyebrow raised. “Cap, you gonna tell us what the hell is going on?”

The super soldiers reluctantly pulled away from each other, Y/n giving the team an awkward wave. The action was so painfully familiar that Steve couldn’t help but bark out a short laugh. That caused a smirk to spread across his boyfriends’ lips, and Steve would tear the world apart to see him smile like that again.

“Uh hi, I’m Y/n and this is my stabby best friend Bucky. We fought with Steve in World War II.” Tony let out a groan, mumbling about there being more old men on the team. Steve simply ignored his friend, speaking up.

“This is my partner, Y/n and my best friend Bucky. Bucky is who Natasha and I have been looking for, for the last year.” Steve felt a bit awkward as the team fired questions at the trio, but Steve couldn’t find himself caring, not when he had Y/n back.

The world had torn them apart from each other, but now he had the man he loved back. He didn’t care if he had to fight a thousand more wars, as long as he had Y/n by his side he felt like he could do anything.

[bluegarners]

hiya @viceturtle! I finally got it done! Here is your Bad Things Happen Bingo request with Dick and Jason; you can also read it on ao3

What Have I Done?

It’s a lot. He’s not going to lie.

Dick was dead for eight months. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. It was a fact that they were all forced to deal with, all forced to live with. Dick was dead and there was nothing any of them could do about it. And for a time, Jason had held onto the small belief, he’s not going to call it hope, that Dick had somehow managed to pull through. That even despite the beatings, the torture, everything before and after it, Dick had managed to pull through and come out of it all alive.

But he hadn’t. That was the thing, at its core. Dick died. 

Jason knows what it is to be dead. To be beaten and left to die. To struggle and still search for a way out of the shit hole you’re suddenly in and cling to that light, that stupid, stupid promise in the back of your head that screams, Help is coming, just hold on a little longer, that forces you to keep struggling, keep surviving, keep hoping for a way out despite the circumstances. Jason knows and it absolutely sucked. 

He died and then clawed his way out of his own coffin. One of his fingers is permanently misshapen, wood chips and metal piercing through his stiff and cold skin. He’s got scars all over his body to prove that he died, to prove that he was beaten with a crowbar, messed around with like he was just some dummy, some thing that could take a beating and then some. Up and down and across and lined; the scars are all over him and he died.

And Dick died too. 

In those eight months, Jason felt more connected to his deceased older brother than he ever had before. A deep and twisted connection over a shared death, a similar fate so convoluted it makes Jason sick to think about sometimes. His murderer is still out there. Jason has to live with that fact and even though it’s not fine and things would be so much easier without that psychopath, Jason gets it. Sometimes. Gets the moral code, the compass, that shrouds Batman and his little followers.

And he’s trying. He is. He made an effort to try and do the right thing when Dick died because suddenly, the role of older brother had fallen onto him and even though he doesn’t have a good relationship with Tim or the recently resurrected Damian, or anyone for that matter, there was still that recognition that it was all on him now. He was the eldest. He was the one to look towards. Not look up to, no, he will never claim the title of a role model, but now he’s the oldest, the most experienced, the next in line when one just can’t go to Bruce about shit going on.

The point being is that he did try, put in more effort than he probably should have, to stepping up to the plate and taking a swing at being better. At being the eldest of the entire brood and not fucking it up horribly. He switches to rubber bullets and smoke pellets. He keeps his excessive violence reserved for only the worst scum and even then still attempts to steer clear from Batman’s territories. He takes care of the Narrows, rekindles a sort of friendship with Tim, doesn’t fight the literal child that lurks in the Cave, and avoids confrontations with Bruce altogether.

It works and it’s good. He steps up, frankly owns being the eldest, and he’s fine. He’s fine with it. He’s still got his reputation intact, Red Robin isn’t terrified of his presence any longer, and Robin doesn’t pull a sword every time they spot one another. So what if he slips up occasionally and gets carried away? They’re just rubber bullets, weapons all the same, and they’re no different from getting hit with Batman’s fist (which Jason knows, from experience, hurts like hell) or getting swung at with a large knife. 

He had a thing going on, is what Jason’s trying to get at, and then Dick showed up.

Dick. Richard Grayson. Who died eight months ago after he was tortured by the Syndicate and had his heart stopped by Lex Luthor. Who they had a funeral for. Who they mourned for. Who Jason had attempted to fill the gaping hole he had left behind.

Who Jason thought had died.

Betrayal is a word Jason feels like he could apply to a majority of his life. Betrayal from his parents, his poor, poor mother who just couldn’t muster up enough fucks. Bruce, Batman, for getting him into the vigilante life, for letting him wear that damn costume and get himself blown up for all his efforts. Talia, for restoring his mind after he was supposed to be dead. Bruce, Batman, again, for letting his murderer walk around like it was another Sunday, any other day, just a nice, normal day for a stroll like he didn’t just kill Bruce’s own son-

Yeah, Jason feels like he has liberal use of betrayal. It’s just an old song he hums sometimes and lets others join in occasionally.

But there was an unspoken code, a silent right-of-passage, when it came to being Robin. A mutual understanding of sorts. You don’t back-stab another Robin. Ever. You don’t lie, cheat out, betray a fellow Robin. There were too many shared experiences when it came to being Batman’s, Bruce’s, Robin and that ultimately revolved all back to trust and knowing that things were still the same despite all these years. Being Robin was both the best thing to ever happen to someone and also the ultimate death sentence. You don’t just get to be Robin either. You’ve got to earn it, to prove yourself, to show that you can take it all on, to keep up with Batman and the ever changing and violent Gotham.

So, when Dick shows up with an apology on his lips and the expectation of being welcomed home after all this time, Jason punches him square in the jaw. It’s surreal, a part of him thinking his fist will just phase right through the man’s face, but his knuckles connect and if the sound of his fist against Dick’s jaw isn’t the most satisfying and cruel thing he’s ever heard, Jason doesn’t know what is. 

It’s agony, nearly, to see the red blossom on his older brother’s cheek because, holy hell, that means it’s all real. That Dick is really alive and not still buried in that weed covered yard with decaying roses scattered on top of it. Dick is alive and Jason is furious because he’s supposed to be dead and Jason already tried so hard to fill the other man’s impossibly huge shoes and he was doing a damn good job at it. He likes to think so, at least.

But who cares, right? Who gives a shit when Dick is back now and it was all for nothing? Everyone can just go back to their normal routines now that the star player is back and they don’t need a fill-in like Jason to stick around. All that effort, all that time, all that trying all summing up into one big, Surprise, I’m not dead, from the man of the hour himself.

Jason avoids Dick after that. The man said he wasn’t staying long, just “checking in” with everyone like he was just on some business call for a few months and not dead. 

And that’s the root of it, Jason thinks. That’s what really gnaws at him because Dick is treating the whole situation exactly like he was on some extended vacation and just forgot to tell anyone where he was going. Not like his absence literally turned their entire world upside down. Not like the loss, the emptiness, that literally echoed everywhere Jason went was consuming and terrifying. In those eight months, Jason had to toe the line between being the eldest and maintaining his identity as Red Hood, and that’s where Jason truly felt close to Dick. Felt like he finally got what Dick and Bruce’s arguments were about so many years ago, this constant war of wanting to be better, wanting to have freedom, wanting to stay yourself when there was a constant war of others trying to get you to fill a role that you don’t want. 

Finally, Jason felt like he had some other important connection to his elusive older brother that had nothing to do with the man that housed them, only for it all to be thrown across the room and into the trash. 

To keep it simple, bare-bones, really dumbed down, Dick lied. About being dead, of all things. Jason can get behind needing to lay low after all that, being stripped of your identity on live television wasn’t exactly great for their kind of lifestyle, but to just leave? To go out on some mission and leave the rest of them out to dry like that? No warning, no hints, no notes, nothing? God, at least Jason made an appearance. Granted, not the best sort of re-introduction, but at least he wasn’t trying to hide.

To say the least, Jason is hurting. The anger faded along with any sort of need to prove to Dick that he had stepped up when he left. Now, he just feels… shitty. In a way, this is what he had been half-way expecting. No one stays dead in this business. There is always someone with a back-up or ex-machina to save the day and bring back a fallen hero, villain, whatever. But there had just been something so final, so human in Dick’s death. In that moment, seeing the mask ripped off, seeing his brother’s face on T.V out of context, away from the normal flashiness that was being related to a billionaire, it had scared Jason because that was his brother, Dick Grayson, world’s most annoying man in the universe, on T.V; beaten, bloodied, bruised, and humiliated for everyone to see.

He’s always been jealous of how clean and clear Dick’s eyes looked. Just a simple and rare shade of blue, obnoxiously bright and searching. Jason’s mother used to say he had his father’s eyes, a muddy mix of blue and green. He’s never liked his eyes, but there was always something so attention grabbing with Dick’s. Seeing them on T.V, wide and blood-shot and bruised to hell; the blue was out of place and humanizing in a way that Jason just couldn't describe because it was simply Dick Grayson there. Not Nightwing. Not a hero. It was just Dick Grayson, world’s worst older brother ever, looking lost, defiant, and defeated all at once.

And that hurt.

The man is like some nasty disease that won’t leave him alone though. Their first meeting was two days ago and Jason is trying his best to ignore the knife in his chest, not literally, when Dick shows up. Just outside the Narrows on the roof of a bodega, Dick appears from where ever the fuck he’s been and walks over to Jason. It’s a cue, Jason knows, when thunder rumbles in the distance and if he were a bit more into literature, feeling a bit more melancholy for his freshman year of high school, Jason would say that a storm is coming for the both of them, not just Gotham.

Dick walks with his hands in his pockets, stuffed inside an old brown jacket that looks well-used and well-loved. Jason’s never seen the jacket before. Must’ve gotten it on his extended vacation. A part of Jason knows that Bruce was in on it too, that Bruce probably deserves just as much anger he’s dishing out towards Dick, maybe even more, but Jason’s tired of trying to play nice and get along. Dick is the one in front of him now, right here on a Wednesday night with the glowing, neon advertisement for Coke singing behind their heads and a run down, twenty year old convenience shop beneath their feet. 

Dick is here and now when he should be dead.

Just like Jason should be.

“What do you want?” he asks, the metallic tin of his voice modulator diminishing some of the threat. It’s a known fact that Red Hood guards his territory with a viciousness rivaling a rabid dog. Outsiders aren’t welcome. Never welcome.

In contrast, Dick is mask-less. Civilian. Same clear blue eyes from eight months ago that were sealed shut the last time Jason saw them. A dark bruise stains Dick’s right cheekbone, the shape of knuckles and betrayal. It’s a good contrast.

“I came to say goodbye,” the other man answers, stopping just short of six feet in front of Jason, “and that I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. I really am,” he insists when Jason remains silent. “Things just… happened too fast. It killed me to be away from you all for so long. I wanted to tell you, I did-”

“Really?” Jason interrupts lowly. “It killed you, huh?”

Dick sighs, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. You know it’s not.”

“I don’t know, Dicky. Times are changing, you know. One minute, you’re the star pupil, and the next I’m your backup. And now,” Jason shrugs, letting his hand come up to rest on the holster he keeps on his hip, “I’m not so sure about that.”

Dick is eyeing Jason like he’s looking at something he doesn’t like. Something that’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. But that’s just something he’s going to have to deal with, isn’t it? Suck it up buttercup, and all that.

A laugh erupts from Jason as he truly takes it all in. “You know,” he chuckles, nothing humorous causing his mirth, “you really had me there for awhile. I bought you flowers, went to your funeral, dealt with all that shit, and yet here you are. In the flesh.” He laughs again, fingers curving steadily around the grip of his gun. “I think I liked you better dead, Dick.”

The older man frowns, brow dipping into a neat crease. Not a single wrinkle on his perfect, tan, not dead face. “The situation was unavoidable,” he says, like he actually believes a word he utters. “Batman needed a guy on the inside. The, hm, circumstances leading up to that set it up so that I could be that guy. It wasn’t exactly my choice to stay dead, Jay.”

“Names,” Jason snarks, that same anger he felt two days ago rearing its ugly head again. “You know, you say you didn’t have a choice, but I think there’s a clear distinction between dead and alive, don’t you? It might just be me, who knows because fuck if I do, but I think a warning woud’ve sufficed. A fucking warning. ”

Something must click in Dick’s head as his frown deepens. His hands are out of his jacket pockets now. They’re both tense.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “Maybe another month. Two at most. When I get back, I’ll try and…” Dick trails off there, as if searching for the right words, but Jason doesn’t have the patience for him to find the right way to say the same bullshit he’s already heard before. 

He’s so tired. So, so tired.

“We were fine without you,” he snarls, relishing in the way Dick’s eyes widen at the claim. “The world doesn’t stop turning just because you decide to go off on a little adventure. Newsflash, asshole: None of us need you. You can’t come back here and expect everything to fall back to the way things were just because you decide it’s time to show your face again.”

“I was doing what I thought was right,” Dick snaps back. “Look, I’m sorry you had to step up and be a decent person for once-”

“And there it is,” Jason growls, unholstering his gun. “You think you’re so much better than me. You’re just so goddamn smug you can’t even see your own mistakes. What, is my being here just too inconvenient for you? Can’t make all the little hero-worshipers fall back into line like they used to?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I did what I thought was best for everyone and I paid the price for it.”

Jason lunges, cutting the feet between them into inches. “What was best?” he yells, swinging with one fist and aiming with the other. “Who the hell are you to decide that?”

Dick retaliates, pushing away Jason with a kick that connects to his armored chest. It’s barely a glancing blow though and he’s charging forwards again, squeezing the trigger as a shot rings off into the air, missing Dick’s foot by a few centimetres. Another crack of thunder resounds in the distance and a bolt of lightning cracks open the dark sky. Dick rolls away from Jason’s tackle, on the balls of his feet and ready to jump away again.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” Dick tries, widening his stance. “I just came to, god, I don’t know, Jay. I didn’t ask for this!”

“Cut the bull,” Jason says, raising his gun again. He’s got it trained on Dick’s mid-section and even though a part of him knows he’s not going to take the shot, another part of him has his finger itching towards the trigger. “None of us asked for any of the fuckery that comes our way, but we deal with it, right? I’m dead, you’re dead, the brat’s dead, we’re all dead!”

There’s another crack of thunder, one that brings the rain with it. It pours, instantly drenching the pair, and a sheet of gray divides them. There’s surely something poetic about it, the divide that surrounds them both, but Jason’s not one to dwell long.

“Well, I’m not dead anymore!” Dick screams through the rain. “I am alive! I’ve been dead for eight months and I don’t want to fucking be anymore! I want to come home, Jay. I am alive. Goddamnit, I am alive!”

“So why didn’t you tell us that? Tell any of us that? All of this, that’s on you , Dick. You want to know why there wasn’t a big fucking parade for you? Why no one was fighting over the chance to be the first one to get to shake your hand? It’s because we don’t trust you anymore. No one fucking wants you near them because that’s how badly you fucked up.”

He must strike a nerve because Jason sees something crumple on Dick’s face. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t want to leave you guys, Jay. God, you’ve got to believe me on that. I had no choice. It was either I leave and do this for Batman or-”

That same anger rises up again. Anger from different directions, different thoughts, but ultimately because it’s about Batman. Always, always about Batman. What he wants. What he needs you to do. Because if you don’t do it, and someone dies, it’s your fault. And Dick has always been the suck-up, the one to come when called, because even after all their spats and all these years of silence between them, Dick was still a Robin first and goddamnit if Jason doesn’t understand that. He hates that he understands that need to please Batman, to do what he asks in the hope of just some tiny ounce of praise or acknowledgment, but Dick is a grown adult. He’s not Robin anymore.

None of them are.

Dick takes a step forward and Jason squeezes the trigger, feeling the recoil in his wrist as Dick freezes, the bullet breezing right past his armpit. His eyes are wide, finally taking the weapon in as it is, and there must be some realization going off inside Dick’s head because now he’s the one charging in, stance low and shifty, and Jason’s on the defense now. His finger is still on the trigger, just barely, and he’s raising it to aim again when a flying round-house knocks the gun from his hand and fist drives under his chin. It disorients him a bit because, damn, he didn’t actually expect Dick to fight back, Jason was trying to get him to go away, but now they’re both serious. They’re both dangerous.

It’s a no-weapons brawl, just fists and dirty kicks and the rain is still pounding away against the bodega. The rain has plastered Dick’s hair to his skull and Jason is grateful for his helmet because it’s clear the water is making it difficult for the older man to see. He takes advantage of this, striking down with his elbow on Dick’s trapezius and quickly hooking his left foot around his ankle. It works for a split second, Dick thrown off and unbalanced, before Dick is tumbling down and using his own momentum to pull Jason down with him. 

They’re on their backs now, rough and cold cement bleeding through their jackets, and the neon Coke sign flickers in and out as thunder continues to roll and shake the world.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” Jason snarls, taking a jab at his older brother’s face. “You should’ve never come back.”

Dick frees one of his hands from underneath the massive bulk of Jason’s suit, palm striking the sides of his helmet. “Take off the godamn hood and say that to my face,” Dick pants, shoving one of his knees into Jason’s side. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me dead, Jay. Tell me you want me dead. ”

Another bolt of lightning splits the dark and its image refracts against the many puddles, and for a moment, the light sears into Jason’s eyes. He flinches against the burn and it’s enough hesitation for Dick to take the unguarded moment and flip Jason, crouching with one knee on his chest and the other digging into Jason’s forearm. They’re both breathing heavily, exhausted both physically and mentally, and he doesn’t bother to stop his brother as Dick reaches down and shoves the helmet off of his face.

Their eyes meet and Jason squints up at clear blue. Yeah, he hates that color. Hates it so much it feels like something ugly in his stomach, coiling and clenching. They’re both frowning but Dick just looks resigned. Jason hates that too. Now that he has the chance, he can see new scars on his brother’s face. New, finer lines and white and pink discoloration. 

Funny how eight months can make someone look so much older.

“I wish you had stayed dead,” Jason finally says, hating himself all the more for it. “I wish you had never come back.”

Dick stumbles off of him and there’s a thin trail of red leaking from one of his eyebrows that keeps getting washed away. Jason doesn’t even remember hitting him there, but he must’ve been excessive. Must’ve over-done it. Just another thing he’s managed to fuck up. Check it off the list. 

He sits up, feeling the ache of a sore back and numerous bruises, and watches as his brother leans heavily against the poles of the advertisement. The rain only seems to come down harder, bouncing off the yellow stained bodega roof. He gets to his feet slowly, careful to keep an eye on the slouching man, and treads over to pick up his helmet. His gun is closer to the bright neon sign and when he gets near enough, Dick looks up, something horribly heavy and sad, settling into his face.

“Okay,” is all he says, nodding once. “Okay, Jay.”

Dick reaches into his jacket pocket once more, fiddling with something, but Jason’s too preoccupied putting his helmet back on to really pay attention to it. They’re done fighting. Done with whatever all of that was. His hair is soaked, his jacket is going to have a layer of mildew on it in the morning, and Jason is tired. Beat. He can’t find the will-power to truly be bothered with anything else. 

This is his territory so he’s not technically fleeing, but that’s what it looks like. Tail between his legs, off to lick his wounds, Jason’s sure that’s what Dick is thinking (he knows that’s not true, he knows this, and he’s got a little secret screaming, pounding away in the back of his skull, but Jason’s too burned out to deal with it, to address it). He walks to the edge of the roof with his back turned on his older brother, his alive and breathing, long lost brother, and jumps off, sliding down the fire escape and landing on the grimy streets below. His boots squelch in the rain, and there’s water logged into his socks, but Jason ignores it in favor of staring ahead. Refusing to look back.

Here’s the thing about being a Robin that everyone who’s been one before knows. 

You rely on each other. There’s no codependency, not really, but there is a certain degree of reliance on past and current Robins. Robin is the inspiration. Not Batman. Batman doesn’t inspire little kids to go out in the night and get punched in the face and witness cruelty so awful you have nightmares for years after. Batman doesn’t inspire light and forgiveness and mercy; that’s all Robin’s doing. The bright colors, the chatter, the youth. That’s all on Robin, the little child weapons they are, and the shared experience of being that for Batman is a bond that runs so much deeper than blood. Thick and interwoven and relied upon so much more heavily than a simple crest or uniform.

And here’s that screaming secret that vibrates inside Jason’s skull: he’s happy Dick’s back. That Dick’s alive. At the end of the day, Dick was the first Robin, the first light, and having him snuffed out was a world that got three shades darker, bleaker. It was Dick’s Robin that truly gave it the twinge of hope all the Robins after carry with them; he was the model, the mold, they shaped themselves after. Him being dead changed that perspective for the worse because the first Robin made it. That’s what was so important, what tips the scales for the confidence of all Robins after. Dick made it. Survived being Robin, survived past Robin, and became his own hero. 

Dick outlived being Robin and that was the ultimate goal. To survive. 

So him dying was the last straw but now that he’s back, alive, everything was going to be okay again. Yeah, they’re all still messed up from it, there’s going to be a lot of trust built back up again, but they’re Robins for Christ's sake. Thicker than blood, stronger than a crest, relied on more than Batman. And maybe Jason’s being sentimental, still trying to be more eloquent than his sophomore English education allowed him to be, but God, he’s trying. He’s trying so hard despite the ache that wears down his bones and the fire that consumes his brain.

That’s why he gives in. Turns around. Looks back. Does what he thought he was too stubborn to do, but things change and-

The neon sign is brighter. No, that’s not right. There’s another source of that eerie, glowing light and Jason’s eyes widen as he sees a person step through it. Another figure, broad, muscular, unfamiliar, and they’re heading straight for Dick. His brother. Who is still leaning against the advertisement poles. Who’s not doing a damn thing to avoid the stranger that’s fast approaching. 

Soreness and fatigue forgotten, Jason starts sprinting, boots pounding against the pavement as he cranes his neck upwards to watch the stranger continue to advance.

“Dick!” he yells in warning, drowned out with the rain. “Dick, move!”

He slams into the fire escape, hands scraping up the ladder as he hauls himself three steps at a time, chest heaving and heart beating wildly. He slips, losing his footing, and Jason grunts as he feels the pull on his shoulder and his knees bang into the sides of the bodega. He pushes on though, gripping the metal tightly and finally reaching the top.

He’s pulling himself over, gasping and searching, and he sees the man tugging Dick closer to the strange light, what Jason thinks must be some sort of portal, and before he’s even gotten a leg over the edge, his right hand is scrambling for purchase on his gun. He takes aim and fires without a second thought and curses aloud when it jams.

“Dick!” he yells again, throwing the useless weapon away and falling over onto the roof. “Stop! Stop! What’re you doing?”

His brother just trudges on though, bicep gripped by the stranger that continues to drag him closer and closer to the pulsating light, ghoulishly pink and saturating the air with an ominous buzz. Another flash of lightning illuminates the sky and Jason trips over himself in his haste, crashing into the slick cement. He whips his head up, too far away, too late, as the stranger disappears fully into the portal, Dick just a few inches away.

“Wait!” Jason cries, still attempting to rise off of his knees. Damn the rain. Damn the weight of his grief. Damn it all, get up. Get up. “Dick, stop! Stop!”

The rain is loud though and there’s a divide between the two of them, mixes of gray, pink, and red light. His brother half turns, watching as the younger stumbles towards him, and Jason can’t hear anything, can hardly process what’s even happening now, but Dick’s lips move in what Jason thinks is, Goodbye, and Jason screams, lunging as his brother fades into the light.

He falls, smashing into the cement once again as he fails to reach for his brother’s hand, and lands where the portal had just been. He lays there on his chest, heaving and attempting to breathe through his helmet, but it’s too hard, too suffocating, and Jason rips it off and flings it as far away from him as he can. His hands clench into fists and he fights back the urge to cry as he slams his fists into the roof. Bam-Bam-Bam.

Something cracks in his knuckles and Jason stops at the pain, shifting back and hanging his head between his knees. There’s a vicious burn in his eyes, his ugly, muddy green eyes, and Jason swipes at them furiously.

“We just got you back,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “We just got you back, Dick, and you, you just-”

A clap of thunder rattles the thin poles of the Coke advertisement as its lights finally flicker out. The night is dark without its glow and Jason is left in obscurity. 

“What have I done?"

[lordabovehelpme]

Let Me Try Something? - Din Djarin x Reader

This is part 3 to the Forget Me Not Series 

A/n: Thank you so much everyone who has reblogged and been enjoying this series. You guys are so sweet and I am so happy that I can write for all of you lovely people. I hope you guys like this chapter!!!

Summary: As you and Din get closer and more comfortable with one another, you try and spark more memeories. 

Warnings: mature themes, memory loss, female reader 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A warm weight rests around your waist, holding you to the very firm yet impossibly comfy pillow you are laying on. Maker, that was the best you’ve slept since… ever. It’s like you’re a new person. But now, as you try to piece together where you are, you realize the pillow is breathing.

Opening your eyes, even as they protest, you find yourself staring up at a sleeping warrior. His head leans on his folded arm, mouth slightly open as soft snores fall from his throat. The other arm wraps around your form and keeps you secure. Feet have entangled with your own as you lay between his legs.

Shuffling slowly up his body, you press a kiss to his cheek. Tucking yourself away in his neck, you close your eyes again and find yourself falling back into a slumber.

Your husband takes in a long breath and his hand starts to trail up and down your spine. It sends shivers up and down your body. In gratitude, you press a kiss to the spot just beneath his ear. He hums his approval and rubs his scruffy cheek against your head, much like an oversized dog.

You giggle as his facial hair tickles your skin and you roll away from him. His arms reach out for you to try and pull you back into his hold. “Hold on I have to pee.”

Groaning, his arms fall to his side. “Hurry.”

He is just as you left him, eyes closed and arms waiting to be wrapped around your body. “Good morning.” You crawl back towards him and press a kiss to his lips.

That seems to have woken him from his unfaltering slumber. He pulls you back against his lips as you start to lean away. “Morning.” He mumbles through kisses.

You move to straddle his hips and lean away from him. His muscles flutter and his eyes close as you scratch your nails down from his face, along his neck, across his firm pecs, and back up to trail along his biceps. Your thumbs press into particularly tight areas, trying to soothe out the knots and pinched nerves he has.

“Mmm, cyare.” His hands grip at your hips and squeeze when you press harder into a sore muscle. You grin, happy that you can elicit these sounds from him. But it really takes the cake when you feel something twitch beneath you. Gasping, you bite your lip and start to move your hips along his own.

Your husband's eyes open wide. “No, cyare, no.” His hands easily lift you off of him as he stands.

The sharp pang of rejection rings out through your bones. You look down at the blanket as tears start to form. You bring your knees as close to your body as you can, trying to form a ball and disappear from the world.

His eyes soften as he realizes his mistake. “No… I-... Look, I’m not ready for this. I don’t want you to think that you have to do this.”

You look up from where you had tucked yourself away, teardrops falling down your cheeks. His hand reaches out and wipes away your tears. “It’s not you. Don’t even start to think that this is your fault. I just… everything was ripped away so quickly and now we’re moving almost too fast. I just need some time to process. Alright?” You nod your head. It makes sense, it has only been a little over a week. But you can’t ignore the way your heart has crashed to the floor.

You just wanted to make him happy, to be who you were before.

“I need to go check something in the cockpit alright?” He gives you one last glance before climbing up the ladder and away from you.

***

You’re sitting right next to the mandalorian as he pilots the ship. You can’t even imagine what it must be like to be in his shoes. For someone you loved and trusted the most in life to suddenly forget every single thing about you. To be demoted down to nothing, to start over from scratch. To wake up everyday and see the lost memory of your lover.

Oh.

It would be so easy for him to just give up and leave you. Then he wouldn’t have to ever think of you again. He wouldn’t have to look at you and know what he lost.

But no, he’s stayed right along with you. He gives you everything you need and ask for as soon as he can. You smile as you remember the second night after the incident. “Can you show me where the tea is?”

He was in the middle of fuzing a couple wires together, but as soon as he heard your voice he literally dropped everything and gave you his full attention. “Tea? Yeah it’s over here.” He reaches up into a cabinet and pulls a tin can down. “Do you want some? Here, I’ll get the water started, you just go sit down, I’ve got it.”

He loves you so much.

He’s offered you so much compassion and care. Making sure every one of your needs are met. And making sure you’re okay.

Looking up at him as he pilots you see him in a new light… a softer light. Recently you have been thinking of yourself, not even noticing what this must be like for him.

“Hey, ummm, I’m sorry for this morning. I should have realized how abrupt it was and how it made you uncomfortable.”

He turns to look at you, his eyes scanning over your face. “No, cyare, you have no reason to be sorry. I just want to wait a little bit.” He reaches out and grabs one of your hands, squeezing it as he says, “I don’t want to spark any memories too sudden.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you. When you giggle his face softens. “But I’m serious, I don’t want you to use too much energy too quickly.”

“You’re too good to me.”

***

The next few days are filled with the quiet routine of your lives.

You’re once again in your spot to his right as he pilots through the universe. It’s a few hours into today’s trip and you’re starting to get bored. The child is asleep down below in his hammock so you don't have anyone to play with.

Din, seeming to be in the same boat, or he just noticed your fiddling says, “It’s too quiet, how about some music?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, come on, we’ll go eat some lunch too.” He grabs your hand and leads you to the main hull. You start to prepare the rations as he flips through a hologram, pressing buttons and waving with his fingers.

A melody fills the air. It’s a tad upbeat while still not being fast. Your head tilts as your mind works. This tune… it’s almost familiar.

“Wait.” Your husband turns from the speaker to look at you. “Why- how…” Suddenly you feel the need to move; like an invisible force has pushed you into the center of the room. “Come here.” You reach out for him.

He walks over and stands opposite to you. As if on a silent cue, you take his hand and start to move along the song. As you gain confidence, you give up control and let your body lead you.

The two of you spin and dance in a way that could only be practiced for many hours. Your hand stays enveloped in his even as your eyes widen. Your feet move on their own, carrying you around and with his body.

Suddenly, memories of laughter and the strong smell of beer fill your head. Almost as clear as day, you look around you can see different mandalorians surrounding you and your husband as you dance. They all watch you in earnest, raising their filled glasses and loudly cheering for the new couple. They drink as much as they can through their straws, allowing them to not take their helmet off.

The armorer sits with some children as she points at you. She nods her head at you. It is now when you realize your arms are covered in white lace. A wedding dress.

It’s beautiful, more beautiful than you ever could have wished for. The skirt flows with your every move, intricate lace decorates and accentuates your frame. Your sleeves, tight near the top but fall into long tendrils of fabric. As you twist and spin, it follows you and makes you feel even lighter on your feet.

The song you were originally dancing too suddenly turns softer, slower. You wrap your arms around Din’s neck and his large hands grab your waist, bringing you close to him as the two of you sway along.

When his forehead touches your own, you snap out of the flashback. You’re met with a pair of curious golden eyes. They skim over your face, searching for any tell of your emotion, any twitch or pull of a muscle that signals him of your thoughts.

“I-... this song,” His eyes widen as he slowly nods his head, “this dance.” A smile forms on his lips, the dimple becoming deeper as the skin around his eyes wrinkle.

As you try and piece together the final bits of the memory, a wave of emotion runs over you, almost knocking you down in the process. The intense feeling of just pure love, so simple that it’s almost complicated. Your heart swells, threatening to push past your ribcage. A gasp rips itself from your throat.

You remember. You remember how magical the day had been, almost as if it was a dream. The smile you would try to hide, but ultimately failed to, as the two of you stood before the Armorer. The vows you repeated back and forth. The cold touch of his helmet to your head.

The happiness you felt that day was like no other. Finally, after so many years, you were able to call him yours. Even now, your cheeks hurt as you recall the eternal smile you held. The covert gladly celebrated along with you two. Laughter and cheers filled the halls for the entire night.

Tears spring to your eyes, as you think of the end of the night. Sat before him in a private secluded room, nerves ablaze as he slid the helmet off his face. As each bit of skin was revealed to you, your eyes widened. Two lips, lips crafted by the gods. A strong handsome nose. Then, those curls. Those soft brown curls that frame his face perfectly.

And finally two enchanting eyes.

Eyes that hold so much emotion. Eyes that convey a long story with a single glance. Eyes that stare into your soul, and instead of making you feel small and weak, they urge you to grow, to let him in. Eyes that you love.

“Cyar’ika… you haven’t said anything.” You recall him saying, timid and insecure.

“Wow.” It’s all you could say, because he literally took every word from your head. The perfect and exact example of speechlessness.

Once again, you are snapped back into reality when a hand cups your cheek. Closing your eyes, you shake your head slightly and return your focus onto the man in front of you.

“That night, it was so special.”

“What night, cyare? Come on tell me.” Swirls of excitement sparkle in his eyes, his voice only proving his eagerness.

“Our wedding night. I remember the loud cheers as we did this exact dance and the fierce love I held for you.”

He nods his head frantically. “Do you remember anything else?”

Smiling you nod in sync with him, giggling at the fast pace. “So much. I remember how warm your hands were as they held mine before the armorer. I remember my dress. I remember how I could feel your eyes on me through the visor. I remember that night when he went back to our room and I finally saw you for the first time. I remember how I could only say wow.”

He chuckles as he kisses both your cheeks. “You were so beautiful that day, you still are. But then, in your white dress, all pretty for me, it was amazing. I felt like I was the luckiest man alive.”

As the song slows to an end, the two of you continue swaying. He tells you stories of that day, filling in the blanks your mind didn't. He tells you how when you walked down that aisle, he felt like his soul had left his body; in a good way he assures you.

The two of you laugh as you converse about the details. Specifically him telling you it's a shame you have forgotten the taste of the wedding cake. It was “like nothing you have ever tasted before.”

Babbles sound from the ground, and when you look down you are met with the outstretched arms of the child. “Hey little guy.” You lean down and pick him up, placing him in your arms. He coos and your husband rubs one of his large ears.

His little hands slap at your cheeks as he smiles, babbling to you about something.

“I know, I did remember something. Hopefully I’ll start to remember our memories too.” You smile at the child before looking up and meeting the warm eyes of your mandalorian. “But, slowly and within our own time.”

Overjoyed with your response, your husband smiles and wraps the two of you into his arms. “I love you cyare.”

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Part: Know That I Love You

So yeah, I hope you all liked it. I’ve really been enjoying writing this series! 

Please consider reblogging, it really helps me out as a smaller blog. I also just love hearing what you all have to say, it makes my day! 

Love you all, Lordy :) 

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[prose-for-hire]

Be still my spooky heart

Pairing: Giles x fem!reader

Request: Sorry this isnt a request for the halloween prompts but I wanted to request a female reader x Giles prompt where the reader is alternative/goth and they're bullied and find sanctuary at the library where they keep to themselves and enjoy the peace and quiet of the library where they can read about spooky things and catch up on their studies ...I'm requesting specifically because I start college again soon and there some people there that make me feel unwelcome and Giles is a current comfort

Requested by: @stardust-strange​ - I’m so sorry this took so long love💜

Warning: Discussion of bullying. Reader gets physically injured, but not at anybody else’s hand. Tiniest ever blood mention.

You had always had a love for the alternative. You had a love for all things dark and spooky. It was so fascinating. You adored gothic fashion and notions. It was a beauty that sometimes it felt that only you saw.  

Your clothing reflected this love of yours. You enjoyed wearing black, pairing different styles to your taste. You had always worn alternative clothing. It was the way that you expressed yourself. It made you feel good, made you happy.

You were happy with the way you dressed. It looked good. But other people didn’t really seem to get it. In fact, they took an almost instant dislike to you for it. Some gave you strange looks whilst others hurled insults at you.

You held your head high for the most part, you weren’t doing anything wrong. All you were doing was expressing yourself (and looking super cool while you were doing it). But some days it really got you down.

It got so bad sometimes that you had to hide. In the bathrooms or somewhere private you found on campus. Because the group grew in their hatred of you almost every day it seemed.

Some days you just left. Not turning up to classes, not daring to show your face. Less you face a fate worse than death itself. Your reality, that is.

Often, you could be found leaving the college campus and walking back there. To your safe space.

Your safe place was your old High school’s library. You could spend hours in there. You would read of such brilliant worlds. Both fiction and otherwise. You enjoyed reading about the goriest demons. The worst ones, with the most horrific pasts. Stories and myths. You loved it all. The creepier the better. It fascinated you. It spoke to your very essence.

This was where you were doing today. You were scurrying towards the library. You couldn’t explain it, but it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe.

Protected. From cruel eyes and harsh barbs that people threw your way. With him, it didn’t feel so bad. With him, you felt like you could fight another day.

Giles was your old high school librarian and you had fallen for him. Deeply. Your feelings increasing since you left the school. You barely ever stopped thinking about him. You were closer to graduating college now and yet you still snuck in the school when Snyder wasn’t paying attention.

He was always happy to see you. So welcoming. Warm and affectionate. More so than he was with anyone else, although you didn’t realise it. You usually slipped in, hiding between the stacks. Some days he found you and sat with you. A comfortable silence.

Others, he would let you have your space and wait for you to come and find him. You knew you could always talk to him. No matter what.

He loved your fascination for the macabre. That you would always tackle the heaviest books. Horror and life and death. Fantasy becoming alive in your mind.

He thought your style was brilliant. He would have worn the same should he not be attached to suits in the way he was now. He thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Your style only accentuating your distinctive features.

His heart soared when he saw that you were there, but when he realised that you were upset it hurt him. Almost as deep as it appeared to on your face. It cut worse than a knife through the chest. Than poison to the heart.

Today, was one of those days. A sad one. Your eyes welling when you arrived, his face that had been upturned into a wry smile upon your appearance in his day instantly dropped when he saw your demeanour. The way you curled in upon yourself. The way you hissed sharply at any wrong movement because of the pain.

You had embarrassed yourself, in front of them all. They had laughed, jeered. Shame had you in a chokehold. Their hatred for you cutting off your circulation. Sobs catching in your throat.

You had fallen over, stumbling over your own feet. In the middle of the lecture hall before the professor started.

They laughed. Whispered and jeered at you. Some clapped and shouted. Their voices becoming louder. You felt so humiliated. They spoke of how much of a freak you were. How much you stuck out from the crowd. How much they hated you for it without knowing you. Just because you didn’t fit their idealised mould.

You had skinned your knee. Blood running down your leg, ripping your tights even more than they usually were. You scooped yourself up, leaving the lecture room as fast as you could hobble away.

Tears stung the back of your eyes. Vision blurred. The heavy stream rolling down your face. You could taste it. Salty sadness almost drowning you.

His kind hand lead you to his office. His love cradled you, his deep-rooted care reaching every pore. Every inch of your being. He scanned your tear-stained face.

His jaw tensed, his eyes barely holding the anger that was hidden behind. He needed to know if someone had done this. Had hurt you in this way. He made sure to keep it below the surface, his care at the forefront. His tensing jaw barely hidden as he took your shaking hand in both of his.

“What happened, Y/n?”

“I-“ You shook your head, waves of sobs making your entire body shudder. His eyes shone, he had never seen you this way. You usually wouldn’t show him just how much they hurt you. It broke him. His hands soothingly rubbing against yours.

“If they have laid a hand on you, I will bloody well-” You shook your head quickly, words failing you. Eyes widening at his biting attitude. He was trying to push it under the surface, silencing it until he knew the facts. But when he cared this deeply, when he knew in his very heart that he would near fight the sun had it cast upon your face wrong - this anger could never dissipate.

You deserved the world. You deserved kindness and light. Compassion and adoration. Everything he had wanted to give you, to say to you. You deserved love.

As you began to explain, knowing there was no immediate physical harm waiting outside the walls he could relax. But only slightly. He sat you down and leaned to take out his medical box, opening it. You watched his fingers sort through the bandages and antiseptic.

He gestured, as if asking permission to assist. You nodded through your still burning tears.

He knelt before you, a soothing hand on your thigh briefly before he realised and reluctantly slid his hand from your skin. You leaned in further despite the discomfort at your slight pain, wishing to feel his warm, comforting hand on you again.

But he moved to focus on the now dried wound on your knee. It wasn’t so deep, but the wound was more emotional from what you had explained. Still, he wished to treat you as if you were the only person in the world. In his world.

He began to clean the wound, wiping the dried blood from your knee. He focused with such dedication. Every stroke a practice in devotion. He was so in tune with you.

He hated it when you hissed, his hand resting on your shin now. The touch soothing. With his touch, your tears began to dry.

He pushed his anger way down, deciding that he would save it for when you were gone. When he could ask Willow to hack into the campus register and find the names of those that cause you such pain. Find a way to make them hurt the way they had made you hurt.

No, don’t be rash.

Right now, everything was about you. It was always about you. You were in his every thought. Every movement. Such attention, such dutiful caress.  He rubbed your leg softly, his fingertips barely brushing your skin but you felt it in your very soul.

His mind would tell him later he had done too much. Been too familiar. When you may not feel the same. But he had such care to give. Such love to lay upon you. He had to show you this tenderness.

He bandaged your wound. The intimacy of this action made you sigh softly, your tears in your eyes but your mind now consumed by him.

When he finished dressing your wound with those nimble fingers, he didn’t move from where he was knelt before you.

He stared into your eyes, his words lost. He just gazed in awe. Even in your sorrow, you were strong. Even at a low he found you ethereal. A woman that would not be torn down by this. That could accept his assistance but still stand strong on your own. He admired you for it.

His touch had been tender and you felt yourself missing this contact. As if he read your mind, your most intimate thoughts he rose to his feet. But not before he leaned into you.

Pressing a sweet kiss against your forehead. Feather-light. You closed your eyes, again leaning into his touch. You wanted to grip him and pull him into you. Kiss his lips, allow him to know you. Feel you. But you couldn’t, not today.

Not after you had shared this moment with him. You were still dizzy from even the gentlest contact he had bestowed upon you.

Maybe one day. When you weren’t so reliant on what you already had now. You adored him, needed him. Couldn’t dare ruin this. Lose this.

You loved him and this was the very moment that you realised. You wouldn’t know for months from now that he felt exactly the same.

[shslrose]

Promise - Mondo Owada x Reader

It’s been a few days since the killing school life began. So far, no has died, but you’re still nervous. You had promised Taka that you’d come to the morning meeting in the dining hall, so when the morning Monokuma announcement plays, you make your way there.

It wasn’t long before you were standing in front of the door to the dining hall, when you suddenly ran into none other than the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader himself, Mondo Owada. Honestly, you find him quite attractive, or, you would, if he wasn’t so scary. He is the leader of the most feared biker gang in all of Japan, after all.

You recall the first time you met him easily. You had entered Hope’s Peak Academy one morning, walked into the entrance hall, fainted, and then woke up in a classroom you’d never seen before. When you had made your way back to the main hall, a group of Ultimates was waiting there.

The group seemed to have broken out into unorganized confusion, but a boy with black hair and red eyes took charge immediately. 

“May I please have everyone’s attention?!” He called out, and everyone turned to look at him. He then introduced himself as Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the Ultimate Moral Compass. He went on to suggest we all introduce ourselves to each other so that we could understand our situation better.

Everyone seemed to agree to his idea, so you turned around and introduced yourself to the first person you saw: a tall boy with a strange haircut, wearing a long black coat and baggy pants. He looked like something of a delinquent, but you also found him rather attractive.

“Um, hi,” you said softly, slightly intimidated by his height and aggressive demeanor. “I’m Y/N… Y/N L/N, the Ultimate [talent].”

“The name’s Mondo Owada, nice to fuckin’ meetcha.”

You snapped back to reality, blushing slightly as you realized you had been staring at him for a few moments while you were lost in thought.

“Oh,” you said softly. “Good morning, Mondo.”

“Like hell it is!” he scoffed. “The day I beat the stuffing outta that goddamned bear, that’ll be a good fucking morning.”

“O-oh..I guess you’re right,” you said, a bit dejected. Before he could say anything else, you opened the door to the dining hall and walked inside. 

“...Damnit!” He exclaimed, letting out a frustrated sigh. He hadn’t meant to be so aggressive, he just couldn’t help it. His problem with aggression was only aggravated by the fact that he found you to be utterly beautiful, which made him nervous in your presence. 

A few minutes later, and all fifteen of you had gathered in the dining hall. It seemed like a normal morning, until Monokuma showed up.

“I’ve got a beary big surprise for you all!” exclaimed Monokuma. “Can you guess it? Can ya? Welllll, you don’t hafta, cause I’ll tell ya! It’s a special video for each of you showing you what’s going on outside the school!”

A...video...showing you...what’s going on...outside the school…?

“Outside the school?” Makoto asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Why dontcha just watch it, and find out?!” Monokuma retorted.

“Fine,” replied Kyoko, who sat in the back of the dining hall. “Then we can go to the A/V room and watch it right now.”

Monokuma disappeared, like usual, leaving the group confused. Curiosity and confusion dominated the conversation that broke out as everyone tried to make sense of Monokuma’s actions.

Eventually, everyone decided to go watch the videos, and so the group made their way to the A/V room. Makoto had gone ahead first, and when you arrived at the room with everyone else, there was a grave look on his pale face. Quickly, everyone grabbed their individual DVDs and rushed to a monitor.

When you watched yours, a video of your family appeared on the screen, wishing you good luck at Hope’s Peak Academy, but then the video suddenly changed to an image of your home that looked completely destroyed. If that weren’t bad enough, you saw blood splattered across the wall.

Blinking back tears, you stumbled away from the monitor. You began to hear outbursts from your classmates, but it was all muffled to you.

“This.. this can’t be real…!” “No.. no way…!” “What..is..this?!”

You couldn’t process it at all. The black and white bear, this killing school life… none of it made any sense. 

“N-no,” you mumbled quietly to yourself. There was a part of you that realised you were trembling, but you didn’t have the energy to try to stop it. “Why..why is this...happening…”

“Y/N?” Taka called out, noticing your distress. “Are you alright?”

You barely even heard him. Desperation and fear struck you, and you quickly ran from the room, tears clouding your vision.

Without a thought, you stumbled into an empty classroom. Your mind was completely blank as you tried to make sense of everything that was happening. You were scared for your family, and you were scared for yourself. What if someone tried to kill you because of the motive video they watched? Anxiety and fear built up inside you quickly...

You had no idea how much time had passed when suddenly the door opened, revealing none other than the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader himself.

“Ah, Y/N! You’ve been gone all day, everyone was worried…!” He exclaimed, smiling at the fact that he had found you, before his expression was quickly replaced with a look of concern. Your face had gone pale and your eyes were nearly vacant. 

Before you even knew what you were doing, you rushed forward and hugged him, pressing yourself firmly against his chest. 

“Oh! Y/N..?” You could hear the surprise in his voice, he hadn’t expected you to hug him, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you in return. He noted to himself that it was a man’s job to comfort a girl in distress, and he was determined to do just that. Even if he wasn’t exactly sure how.

“I’m..so scared…” you cried, feeling the weight of the situation upon you. “I don’t..wanna die..” “Hey, c’mon...it’s alright, you know? D-don’t cry…” He tried his best to comfort you, but he wasn’t sure exactly what to say. Still, his words and his presence managed to calm you enough, and allowed you to take in your situation.

“...!” The realization that you had just walked up to Mondo and hugged him unprompted hit you like a turn of bricks. Your face turned bright red with embarrassment as you pulled away. “I-I’m sorry…!”

You looked down at your hands, too embarrassed to make eye contact with him. Mondo turned away too, as a blush began to cover his face as well. 

“Tch, it’s no big deal,” he scoffed, trying to play it cool. “Besides, it’s not like I minded…”

You heard him mutter something under his breath, so you asked, “Huh?”

“I didn’t fuckin say anything…!” His blush deepened as he spoke.

“...”

“Anyways...you don’t gotta cry anymore, or feel scared, alright?” There was a confidence in his words, like he was certain in what he said.

“What do you mean…?”

“I’m gonna make you a promise, as a man!” There was a smile on his lips and a light in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“A promise...as a man?”

“Hell yeah! It’s the one thing my big bro always told me! He said that no matter what, a real man always keeps his promises. Always. So, I’m gonna make you a promise as a man: I’ll protect you, and we’ll escape this school together, no matter what,” Mondo promised earnestly. “Okay?”

“O-okay..”

“Good! You can trust me when I make that promise, so now you don’t gotta cry, or feel scared, see?” He was still smiling, and by the time he finished his sentence, you were too. You hugged him again, pressing your body against his once more.

“Thank you, Mondo, I really do feel better,” you told him honestly. With the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader on your side, you felt completely safe and reassured. 

Without warning, Monokuma appeared before the two of you. 

“Ah!” You exclaimed, breaking apart from the embrace. Mondo quickly stepped in front of you, protectively. 

“Monokuma...I’ll rip ya to shreds!” He roared, clearly irritated.

“Mondooooo!” Monokuma sang cheerfully. “It’s standing up!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mondo shot back.

“Come onnn!” Monokuma replied in the same cheerful tone. “Do ya even hafta ask?!”

As he realised what Monokuma meant, Mondo blushed for the third time that day.

Monokuma didn’t wait for a reply, and continued on. “Your flagpole! It’s standing up!”

“Get the fuck outta here!” Mondo shouted, and unexpectedly, Monokuma listened and left the room.

“Standing up…? Flagpole…?” You muttered, confused, which only seemed to make Mondo blush harder. “What did he mean?”

“Tch, w-who the hell knows?! I-I mean, that bear’s fucking insane! A total psycho freak, ya know!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed, before taking a quick glance at the clock on the classroom wall. “It’s nearly nighttime…”

“Hey, how ‘bout I walk you back to your dorm?” Mondo suggested, having calmed down.

“Sure, I’d like that,” you replied.

And so, the two of you made your way through the halls of Hope’s Peak Academy together. Although you were still scared by the killing school life, Mondo had made a promise to you, and you found comfort in that promise.

------

Read Part Two here!

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a/n - requests are currently open, for dr1, dr2, and drv3! <3

[darthkruge]

heyy Megan, I'm trying to do a character study on Anakin but im finding very limited information online. what do you think are some of his worst and best traits? his personality, humor and like his values? thank you so much,, hope you have a good day/night

omg hi!! thank you for asking me!!

*cracks knuckles* let’s get into it 

anakin skywalker character analysis

best traits:

intelligence, overall skill, curiosity 

anakin was building droids from scraps when he was a child. he spoke huttese and basic from a young age, as well. he’s an insane battle strategist, wonderfully skilled in battle/with a lightsaber, and incredible pilot! he can pick up new skills quickly, as well. i’m just gonna link this post by @chokemeanakin bc it just sums it up real nice.. but yes smart boy love him

compassion, capacity for emotions, empathy, understanding

anakin feels things deeply. i’ve talked about this a lot before lol. but yeah he is frequently in conflict over the sheer weight of the emotions he carries. further, as a jedi, this is not something his peers could relate to. but he always tries to be there for his friends and would do anything to ease their pain. and i think that anakin seeks to understand others. he’s spent so much of his life feeling alone and like no one related to him; he wants to know how other people work, feel, and think.

loyalty, friendship, caring

anakin is so fucking loyal to those he loves. and, tying into my previous point, he loves deeply. he cares, he always has. he treats droids as humans and forms attachments, even though they may be forbidden. he held onto that need for love, for connection even after he joined the order. and he would defend those he loves til the very end... 

selflessness, protectiveness, bravery

anakin would literally dive headfirst into danger to save someone he loves. he doesn’t care about hurting himself or honestly whatever happens to him, as long as those he cares for are safe. 

worst traits:

impulsivity, recklessness

i think we’ve all seen anakin be a bit impulsive at times... sometimes, he just doesn’t think everything through. this is especially clear when someone he loves is in danger. anakin’s lost so many people that when he’s faced with the threat of losing another, his judgment can become clouded. 

insecurity, jealousy, fear

anakin is frequently jealous, which stems from his insecurities. he was probably conflicted a lot; brought into the order as a young child and told he was the chosen one. the weight of the galaxy was placed on his shoulders and, yet, he was held back in classes as a padawan, he didn’t make rank (canonically). i think these things are what allowed palpatine to manipulate him; palpatine knew anakin was afraid, insecure, and, yet, arrogant (my next point dw). he tapped into this and because anakin and the council did not have much mutual trust (aside from like obi-wan), it was easier to get to him. especially because palpatine used anakin’s fear of losing padme and his unborn children to do so. fuck palpatine bro- 

arrogance

yes, anakin was insecure. yes, he was also arrogant. let me explain myself. he occassionally rushes into things without thinking, thinking he can handle them. i think a lot of this stems from being told he was the chosen one from such a young age. that title combined with his skill?! it makes sense he’d internalize it. i am now going to stop myself before i rant about how the gifted education system is a fuckfest. this is coming from someone who spent years in that program. anyway-

personality/overall rant about his life/motivations:

i think i summed up a lot of his personality within the best and worst traits because i got ahead of myself but im going to say some more!! i think a lot of anakin’s personality is dependent on his deep capacity for emotions. you can see that throughout ROTS, he was conflicted almost all the time. he grew up as a slave and all he wanted was to protect his mother. he built droids to help her and competed in podraces to tryand get them anything that could help. 

then, he was taken to the order. suddenly, all these amazing traits he has make sense!! but then the person who’s supposed to train him (qui-gon) dies after anakin’s only known him for a short period of time. anakin’s attachment issues are abundant (i don’t think i need to explain that one) so of course he grows close to obi-wan! but obi-wan was trying to be strong for anakin. even though obi-wan struggled himself with attachment, he tried to be strong and put up a front as a “good” jedi for anakin to look up to. while this was helpful, anakin probably just felt more conflicted, as no one in his life could relate to the bredth of emotions he felt. this caused him to be more introverted and withdrawn (i talk about that in this post)

then, he loses his mother, she dies in his arms. the only person he’d wanted to protect from a young age, who he left to join the jedi, dies in his arms. he blames himself for this, thinking he should have gotten there faster, should have done something more. he probably also blamed the jedi, to at least some extent. why do these powers matter if they can’t save the people he loves? i believe he acted out of anger, killing the tuskens, because (at least to some degree) of the jedi. instead of teaching him how to express his emotions (pain, fear, loss, grief, etc.), they train him. to some degree, he might think all he’s good for is these skills. so he acts out of anger, slaughtering them. 

and then finally he finds someone who loves him in the way he wants to be loved. padme stays by his side, even after he killed the tuskens. she sees the good in him and treats him as a man, not a prophecy. but once again, this motif of fear remains! he has to hide this love, one of the only pure and good things in his life! he has to live in fear every second of every day because, if the council finds out that he found happiness and love, everything is ruined. 

but then he starts getting the vision’s that padme will die. and not just padme, now his unborn children could die, too. the one thing he has that is good and purely his could now be ripped away. he knew he was helpless, knew there was nothing he could do to stop it by himself. the council isn’t that helpful, telling him to learn to let it go with the force. while that might help any other jedi, it just pushed anakin away. he would never be able to just surrender and let go to the force, not when the life of his entire family is at risk! 

and he finds palpatine, someonoe who has spent years trying to manipulate him. but palpatine is smart, he’s cunning. anakin didn’t know what the real intentions were and, truly, he probably didn’t want to know. he was blinded by his fear and if anything could save padme, he would do it. then the council try to get him to spy on palpatine. again, conflict. anakin’s loyalty is repeatedly questioned and pushed and prodded, he was probably so confused! he didn’t know who to trust. but, when you combine the current situation with his backstory with who he is and what he cares about, it makes sense why it all happened. 

this is what i mean when i say conflict. he was pulled in a million directions constantly. and we all know how his story ends and i don’t want to cry so i’m not gonna detail it...

also: i’m not saying any of this excuses all of his choices, but it does explain them.  

humor:

lowkey a dork

he is. and i love that about him. you can see this in the way he flirts with padme sometimes... like floating the pear to her and the whole “i don’t like sand” thing. he’s a fucking dork. can’t exactly blame him nor do i hold it against him! he didn’t have many close friends growing up and he was like pining for padme for years so it’s not like he spent that time creating a playbook

he’s also witty!

i think this comes with his intelligence; he’s witty and he’s quick. example: “general grievous, you’re shorter than i expected.” i mean he’s no sass-king obi-wan kenobi but anakin definitely can hold his own in a verbal sparring match! 

also i headcanon him as having horrible puns but loving them!

values:

love, friendship, connections

at his core, anakin just wants to find someone who understands him and his emotions. who can relate to him. he wants those connections; in fact, he actively seeks them out. love is a key part of his identity. i talk about this in this post about his love languages so imma just link it there!

success, validation

tying into his determination, anakin wants to do well! he pushes himself and i think he’s a perfectionist, too. you can see this in the way he holds himself as a general; he doesn’t slack off, doesn’t not care. he understands the responsibility he has in that role and he takes it seriously! and just in his overall skill level, even though he was a bit of a child-prodigy, he clearly spent a long time training. he probably also had some imposter syndrome going on and was constantly trying to prove his worth. 

----

uhh yeah i think i got everything?? yes?? he’s so complex and i legit love him immensely. doing character analysis for anakin is my favorite thing in the entire universe! if anyone has anything they want to add, please feel free!!

[gabxbyr]

See You Again (English version) Newt x Reader

(English is not my native language so excuse me if there is any mistake)

Finally they had made it. The Right Arm, the end of the Scorch, the end of hell, the end of WICKED. They didn't believe in it anymore and yet here they were, all sitting on the rocks high above the ground, contemplating the people who were gradually packing up the camp in order to leave tomorrow at dawn.

Y/N had delicately placed her head on Newt's shoulder in order to make the most of their newly acquired freedom. She could finally allow herself this simple gesture without having the impression that it was not the moment. Indeed the blond had confessed his love for her just before they fought the grievers to get out of the Maze but with the battle, Chuck's death -at this thought the girl's heart tightened- and the crossing of the Scorch they had never had the opportunity to live their relationship fully. And here, with her cheek on his warm skin and her nostrils impregnated with his masculine scent, she felt like she belonged. On top of that she was with her friends and that's all that mattered. Rather with a part of her friends sadistically reminded her brain as if to tarnish her sudden joy... It is true that many of her companions had died so that they could get there and she could not forget it. First there was Ben, a close friend of Minho and her, as they were all runners; then it was Alby's turn, their leader and their guide, to disappear. Then Chuck's sacrifice, which she still had a hard time getting over -maybe not as hard as Thomas, but still- and at the same time Gally's death, which saddened her, and then the last death, Winston's. Y/N still remembered his death and the way he had been treated. Y/N still remembered his screams when those damn cranks had lacerated his belly and that tragic gunshot that meant the death of their friend. At the thought she couldn't suppress a shiver.

-Y/N, Newt's voice suddenly rang out, waking her from her lethargy. Are you all right ?

He was surely aware of her silence and her shivers.

-Yes do not worry, she answered by playing gently with the fingers of the blond whom she fixed with a nostalgic face. I just thought of all the sacrifices which we had to endure to arrive here and of all the close ones that we lost.

Newt looked at the girl pressed up against him with a mixture of love, compassion and sadness in his brown orbs. He understood exactly what she was getting at, after all Alby was one of his best friends and he would never know they were out of the Maze. Yet he also knew that if he could do it again he wouldn't change a thing if it meant he could be here with her. It was with this thought that he gently lifted her face with his fingers under her chin to plunge his eyes into her Y/E/C ones.

-I know how you feel, we all feel it here. But you know as well as I do that we wouldn't be here without them, and maybe what I'm about to say will sound completely selfish, but I'm glad we're both here.

As an answer she gave him one of her sincere and radiant smiles that illuminated her beautiful face damaged by the dust and the sun. The blond wanted to bend down to kiss her sweet lips but Minho didn't count on it and took the girl by the armpits and made her turn in the air.

-Did I hear Princess depressed ?

-Minho ! Y/N shouted, ripped from the sweet embrace of the former second in command. Put me down right now or I swear I'll throw up on you !

-Better you throw up on me than on your loser boyfriend's mouth, said the asian boy proud of him. Don't you think ?

-Her loser boyfriend fucks you.

Newt had wanted to take a stern voice but he failed miserably far too happy to see his girlfriend and his best friend playing like children and laughing so lightly. It reminded him of the happy times he had spent on the Glade away from the horror of the outside world. Frypan must have been thinking the same thing because while the two of them were still running around behind each other the former Galder's cook approached the blond.

-I miss the Glade.

-Me too, Newt admitted. But now that it's all over I'm happy.

-Yes, it's all over, Fry murmured with a smile.

As the two troublemakers returned to sit with them breathless from their childishness Thomas arrived to join them, Chuck's statuette clutched in his fingers. There was a sudden silence as nostalgic thoughts undoubtedly resurfaced.

-If only Chuck could have seen this.

It was the brown man's voice, full of immeasurable sadness. Slowly Y/N put his hand on his shoulder in compassion as Newt cleared his throat.

-He would be so proud of you, Tommy.

The nickname made Thomas smile softly as he murmured a "yeah" in response. He missed little Chuck terribly, but was grateful to have Newt, Minho, Y/N, Frypan and Teresa by his side. He wondered where Teresa could be. He felt the need to see her and to hold her in his arms as the blond did with his friend. He was going to ask where she was but he was cut by Frypan who greeted Aris by shouting.

-l kinda like that kid.

Minho gave a septic look to Fry showing his disagreement with him.

-Yeah. I still don't trust him, though.

His remark made the blockards laugh, recognizing the typical suspicious behavior of the Asian.

-Minho in all his splendor, ladies and gentlemen.

The former keeper of the runners looked at the only girl of the group by raising his eyebrows then he smirked which never announces anything good.

-You, he began, pointing at her. Believe me I smell you ! You smell like klunk !

Suddenly a mini scream was heard coming out of his mouth as Y/N had just hit him in the shoulder.

-I call mistreatment of Asians racism, Frypan said.

-Thank you bro, Minho thanked him, pretending to cry. We understand each other !

After a new laugh from the blockards, Thomas remembered the question he wanted to ask before they debated Aris. He then turned his jet-black eyes towards his comrades.

-Hey, where's Teresa ?

Y/N frowned a little at the name. From the moment this girl arrived, she had found her strange and her doubts had been reinforced during their crossing of the Scorched Earth, but except for Minho and Newt, whenever she talked about it with someone, they told her that her suspicions were simply based on a feeling of jealousy because she was no longer the only girl in the group. Nonsense! The proof was that she got along very well with Brenda. But the girl with Y/H/C hair preferred to keep quiet and ignore the question unlike her boyfriend.

-Yeah, the blonde answered, pointing to a sharp rock in the distance behind them. She went up there.

The brunet thanked him with a nod before leaving hurriedly to meet her. They were all aware of Thomas' feelings towards his blue-eyed goddess and although the others didn't care -except maybe Minho who didn't hold Teresa in his heart- Y/N had a bad feeling.

This was confirmed when shortly afterwards bergs belonging to the WICKED began to arrive in the distance. The girl's heart began to pound ferociously as adrenaline and fear mingled within her. They had only just regained their fucking freedom!

The gladers only reacted when the first bombs hit the camp floor.

-Let's get moving, Minho yelled at them as he got up and headed downhill right into the action.

Y/N followed him after a last loving and fearful glance at Newt. Screams, blood and fire surrounded them now as they made their way to Harriet and Vince in search of weapons to fight with. Vince handed the gladers guns.

-Can you use these ?

They nodded and prepared to fire.

-Cover me, shouted the leader of the Right Arm.

So it was with fear but adrenaline that they stood around the van containing the machine gun and began firing at the WICKED soldiers. The rage of life they felt left little room for guilt, even though they would have deaths on their conscience.

-There are too many of them, Minho despaired.

They were running out of munitions and the asian's realization gave them an extra wave of fear... This was the end, WICKED was winning. As Y/N searched her pockets for ammunition she heard Vince's deep voice ringing in her ears just before she felt a wave of electricity run through every inch of her body and then she fell into unconsciousness.

When they woke up, the gladers were in a line, among the other WICKED subjects, kneeling and weakened. Y/N stood between Minho and Newt and looked at Rat Man with all the rage she felt. She had to look away, however, when a soldier came up behind her, scanned her neck and announced.

-A3.

This is what she was reduced to. A fucking number, like an animal. They were dehumanizing them as if they were nothing more than livestock. WICKED was intentionally forgetting that they were just teenagers. This realization made her clench her fists and teeth. Her impulsiveness was getting the better of her.

-Where's Thomas, she heard Rat Man ask.

And before she could stop herself, her rebellious and impulsive side surfaced.

-Up your ass, you rat-faced bastard !

A silence was created on the battlefield. Newt looked at her reproachfully as Janson turned red with anger. He approached the girl and before the gladers could react Rat Man took her by the arm and threw her into the middle of them all. And as she tried to get up from the ground, she was kicked in the abdomen, making her regret her stupid behavior.

-You want to play it smart ? Well you're going to regret it kid, he then turned to one of his colleagues. Did you say that we had almost all of them ?

Y/N saw the guard nod as she began to get really scared.

-Good, Janson seemed to be pleased as he loaded his gun and pointed it at her. I guess no one will mind if I kill one of them then ?

The salt-and-pepper haired man was preparing to shoot under the incessant shouting of the gladers and the threats of Newt when Thomas appeared.

-I'm here.

Janson then diverted his attention from the young girl who went to snuggle in the arms of her boyfriend. The latter held her against him as if his life depended on it.

-Everything's fine, he whispered in her ear, trying to reassure himself. I am there.

During this time the brown one also took a blow of the part of the Rat Man then was placed at the sides of Minho who looked at him dazed.

-Why didn't you run ?

-I'm tired of running.

His statement seemed to cast a sort of veil of hope over the blockards and Y/N lifted herself a little from the blond to give Thomas a discreet smile. He was right, they should stop running. However, her smile quickly faded when another berg appeared and landed a few meters away from their position, bringing a sense of fear back to the group.

Ava Paige. The woman with platinum blonde hair who was supposedly dead and was the head of the WICKED. Their worst enemy was standing in front of them, staring at them like the test subjects they were in her eyes. She ordered Janson to start the boarding and that's how the different teenagers were dragged towards the berg. So far, none of the gladers had been taken. However, Ava stopped in front of them and made Thomas stand up.

-Good evening, Thomas.

Was she making fun of him? She put him in a damn Maze, sent him to a city full of cranks and hunted him down to say a simple good evening ? The only thing the brunette could think at that moment was "go to hell" but he preferred to keep quiet and look at her, a defiant glare stuck to his face. However all trace of insolence flew away when Teresa appeared at the side of this woman.

-I don't believe it, said Minho, standing up.

-Teresa, Frypan murmured in astonishment.

-But what's going on here ? asked Newt lost.

-She's with the enemy, Thomas suddenly said in a voice devoid of emotion.

Y/N couldn't stop a nervous laugh from coming out of her lips as a huge hatred took place in her heart.

-I knew it, she whispered, realizing she was right all along. You are a fucking traitor !

The blond realizing that his girlfriend was once again going to put herself in a sensitive situation placed his arm in front of her as if to protect her and prevent anyone from hurting her. He would not allow it.

That was the moment Janson chose to intervene.

-Teresa's always had an evolved appreciation of the greater good. Once we restored her memories, it was only a matter of time.

-I'm sorry, she began as the gladers looked at her accusingly. I had no choice. This is the only way. We have to find a cure.

Thomas lowered his head feeling his heart tear as the girl he was in love with drove the stake of betrayal deeper into his heart. He wanted so badly for this to be just a nightmare yet he knew it was real.

-And a cure for your bullshit ? Minho interjected with his usual sarcasm. Didn't you find it ?

-Drop it, Minho, added Y/N. All it would take is a little loyalty and humanity.

The dark-haired girl looked down but ignored them royally as Ava confirmed her words. The latter was trying to convince them that she was not a monster and that she just needed more time. But Marie, the camp doctor, spoke up.

-And more blood !

-Hello, Marie, said the blonde woman as the female doctor approached. I hoped we'd meet again. I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances.

-I'm sorry about a lot of things too, Marie cut her off. But not this. At least my conscience is clear.

Unlike Teresa, Y/N thought furtively before concentrating on Ava's answer.

-So is mine.

A shot rang out, cutting short the exchange between the two women. And the said Mary collapsed on the ground under the desperate cries of Vince and the murderous glance of Janson. While looking at this scene with teary eyes, Thomas understood what he had to do. At this thought his breathing became more panting and the tension in his muscles more oppressive. He waited for the WICKED to begin boarding them before pulling out a bomb and threatening to detonate it.

-Everyone stand back, Janson ordered his soldiers, his stress mounting. Hold your fire !

-Let them all go, Thomas shouted as Rat Man tried to talk him down.

Janson, Ava, and even Teresa all began to talk to him to make him listen to reason, not realizing that they were only reassuring him of his decision. Moreover, the gladers, at first overwhelmed by the events, began to understand why their friend was doing this and it was resigned that Minho came to Thomas' side and nodded to show his support. He was followed closely by Frypan, Newt and Y/N who hold hands with the blond man.

-We're with you, Thomas, said the latter, taking his girlfriend in his arms for a last embrace.

-Do it Thomas, added the asian to cover the protests of Teresa and Ava.

-We are ready, made Fry by holding the shoulder of the brown.

-It's the end, finished Y/N by pressing a little more strongly the blond in her arms.

After a last glance towards his friends Thomas turned to Teresa.

-We're not going back there, he declared while shaking before preparing to release the bomb. It's the only way.

Suddenly, as Ava Paige's scream resonated as if to prevent the explosion, a horn went off, stopping Thomas in his tracks. It was Jorge who drove like a madman into one of the WICKED helicopters, leaving the members of the Right Arm the opportunity to disperse and defend themselves.

-Are you all right ? asked Newt, concerned about the well-being of his beloved.

For all answer Y/N nodded her head before joining the others and suddenly getting down on the ground while Thomas had just thrown the bomb on the members of the inter-governmental organization. As they got up, they went in search of weapons to fight with. Brenda was defending them from the top of the cliffs like a sniper. She had managed to hit Janson in the shoulder, which made Y/N smile and find a gun. Hope made her heart beat again and gave her enough adrenaline to fight.

As for Vince, he went back to his machine gun, shooting at the WICKED soldiers and at the same time quenching his thirst for revenge for Marie's death. It was total chaos. The gladers were running for cover, covered by Minho and Y/N who were the only two of the group to have acquired weapons. They found some debris to hide behind about hundred meters away.

-Keep going, the asian shouted. We got you !

-Be careful ! Newt asked worriedly as they ran to their hiding place.

-Don't worry about us, the girl tried to reassure him.

Thomas suddenly arrived running, he passed behind his two friends to join the others. It was the last one they could retreat. Y/N then began to run towards her friends when she realized that the asian did not follow her.

-Minho, what are you doing ? she shouted to him already six meters away from him.

-Go ahead, go ahead, he replied, shooting at a soldier. I'll catch up with you !

She continued her race trusting her best friend when she saw him taking an electrifying ball of the WICKED and falling on the ground shaking of spasms. She shouted his name and asked him to get up and join her. She heard her friends in the distance doing the same but the former keeper of the runners was close to sink in the unconsciousness. She then turned her gaze to her friends in the distance and then to Mihno who was beginning to be carried away. One last time she looked into Newt's chocolate eyes and mouthed a final "I love you" as he understood her intention and shouted at her to stop. It was too late, she had made her decision, we don't abandon our friends. She then faced the asian and started to run towards him as fast as she could. She could feel her heart racing as she shot at the two guards holding her friend. Once she reached him she let out a sigh of relief and with great effort and a few more drops of sweat she managed to lift Minho off the ground. She then looked up at her friends' hiding place and began to sprint. However, as she saw the hopeful looks on her friends' and Newt's faces, she felt an excruciating sting in her back and electricity paralyzing her. She then fell on the sand and dust while letting out a cry of agony which was replaced very quickly by the cry of despair of her favorite blond boy.

The latter seeing the girl he loved being taken away by the WICKED wanted to intervene but his friends understanding that it was over held him back with tears in their eyes and their hearts in pieces. And it was under their desperate looks that the berg enclosing their friends started to fly away while Janson threw them a last triumphant smile while holding firmly the unconscious body of Y/N in his arms.

-Bastards, Newt shouted, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You bastards ! Bring them back ! Come back ! Give her back to me !

Thomas went over to him to put his hand on his shoulder, but as surprising as it may seem, the blond threw himself into his arms and cried against his shoulder. Usually the second in command kept everything to himself and did not share his sorrows. He never expressed his sadness, but this was too much for him to bear. When Y/N had arrived in the block just after his suicide attempt, she had been a breath of fresh air for him. She had been his little dose of hope and he needed her. He couldn't lose her.

-Tommy, he said in a firm voice, looking into Thomas' wet eyes. Promise me we'll get them back.

-I promise, Newt.

Masterlist

[deans-haunted-baby]

Dadstiel Shoulder Touch Analysis

I want to take some time to discuss something about this incredible father/son dynamic that I don’t think gets enough recognition. And that is their connection. A connection layered in so many different attributes yet primarily based on physical touch. Apologies this is going to be long. Despite my saltiness towards Supernatural as I feel the show squandered them during its run, I really love the amount of attention to detail that was put into Castiel and Jack’s relationship. It kind of has a Terminator inspired vibe going on which I can’t deny enjoying. The bodyguard and the future savior of mankind. And this bond was in development all the way back in season 12; long before Jack was born. 

During 12x19 it’s through his mother Kelly, that the son of Lucifer forges an emotional attachment with the trench-coated angel whom he imprints on to be his surrogate dad. From the moment Castiel puts his hand on her belly, and feels Jack, they instantly fall in love with each other. At first touch. Trusting each other completely without the slightest bit of doubt as they sense the other’s good aura. It’s a devotion unlike anything Cas has ever experienced in his millions of years. Even more than what he’s felt for Sam and Dean. And it happens before he and Jack even get to see each other. Their bond becomes intensely essential that it boosts Castiel’s grace, allowing him to protect Kelly and her son from Dagon as well as cause a rip in time and space.

After Jack is born and in the care of the Winchesters, scared, lost and confused yet curious as an infant in an adolescent body; the child wanders aimlessly searching for Castiel. All he wants in that moment is to be with Castiel because that is who he recognizes as his father. Missing him and needing to feel that same warmth, protection and compassion he felt from inside his mother’s womb. However, following the tragic circumstances that led to the angel’s unexpected death at the hands of Jack’s biological dad in 12x23, these two are forcibly separated in the beginning of season 13. Until Jack instinctively resurrects Castiel out of the Empty through his own will and desire alone at the very end of 13x03. Proving that no matter how far away they are, the tether between them can’t be broken.

These two don’t even need an introduction from Sam and Dean when 13x06 finally reunites them for the first time. Jack immediately knows who Castiel is going off on his mother’s memories. And their reunion comes so naturally. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation or apprehensiveness emanating from the angel’s presence. Jack just walks right up to Cas, puts his arms around him and tells him how much he missed him. Its as if they’d never been apart. And afterwards they spend nearly the entire episode practically inseparable. Getting to know each other as father and son. And that goes without saying, while Jack did bond with the Winchesters in person first, there is no comparison to the Nephilim boy’s emotional attachment towards the angel.

This special relationship is very significant to both of them. Around each other they’re at their most happiest. Castiel is constantly at Jack’s side; and ALMOST ALWAYS tenderly touching him, namely his shoulders or protectively holding him by the arm and the child wholly reciprocates this. In Castiel’s gentle physical touch Jack is given a sense of security, solace, reassurance and comfort. Same as he’d had as an unborn baby. Not only is this the angel’s way of demonstrating his affection, empathy and devotion towards his son but this is actually how he non-verbally tells Jack that he loves him. Its purely unconditional. And this gesture isn’t one-sided as I will acknowledge later. Jack desires Cas’s tangible nearness as much as his dad does which is why they’re so magnetically pulled together in all of their scenes on the show. 

Even when they’re at conflict with each other or arguing, Castiel never fails to let Jack know that he’s always safe and loved. That he isn’t afraid of him. His son could be in pain, angry, or vengeful in the moment and Castiel’s affection for that child will never waver. He’ll endlessly put his own life at risk in order to reach Jack; who is far more powerful than he is via his archangel half. Like the convivence store scene in 13x23 when Jack attacks a civilian believing he’d killed his friend and Cas does his best to subdue him. Whether Jack wants it or not at the time, he needs his dad’s emotional support; and the angel can’t stand the thought of his son harmed or hurting. He’s easily saddened whenever Jack refuses his touch as shown in 13x21 when he was very upset over Sam’s temporary death and rips away Cas’s hand as he’s trying to console him.

Supernatural really emphasizes the powerful connection Castiel and Jack share using physical communication in nearly every one of their episodes. Its these wonderful details they do onscreen that illustrates the depth of love these characters have for each other. Unfortunately though, they didn’t get to interact much during season 13. Yet the small portions in their four episodes together is exceptionally substantial. While we’re on the subject, the shoulder touches are definitely a Dadstiel thing. It’s their signature sign of affection and theirs’s only. Don’t believe me, let me give you an example of a specific scene in 14x19 between Jack and Sam; which takes place in the aftermath of Jack’s accidental killing of the Winchesters’ mother Mary.

Dean and Sam conspire to trick and lock away the soulless infant Nephilim in a mystical coffin as punishment with the intention of finding a solution that will end his life. Sam is the reluctant main player in this scheme of using his influence over the child in order to gain his trust and sway him into his fate. Just before Jack’s about to be led to the room and put into the box, scared and uncertain, Sam then puts his hand on his shoulder telling him they need to keep him safe while giving him an awkward grin. And look at Jack’s expression as this happens. It reads shattered. He immediately knows something’s wrong. Sam is touching him just like Castiel…except this is nothing like Castiel. His dad’s shoulder touches are always so tender and loving. 

Jack can literally feel Cas’s devotion for him in every tangibility. But here he doesn’t feel that from Sam at all. Its cold, fearful and empty just like he is on the inside. Rendering him even more nervous. Speaking of season 14 the father/son content we get between Castiel and Jack is even better that year as its all about their relationship growing and strengthening into something far deeper than it was in the previous seasons 12 and 13. It’s the year their bond is put through the ultimate test. Where Jack is made human after Lucifer steals his grace and Cas dominantly steps into his role as a father.  

Providing Jack with a certain guidance, boundaries, and stability in episodes 14x01, 14x02, 14x03, 14x09 and 14x10 unlike what he’d received from Sam and Dean. Castiel takes on all the difficult tasks of parenting ranging from scolding to teaching his son about death, responsibility, self-restraint, patience and the tribulations of growing up. He doesn’t raise his voice ever when he speaks to Jack. And is completely there 100% for his son from the beginning…and the end of his life. Although Castiel is an angel he is very much a pivotal link to Jack’s humanity and vice versa as well as a link to his celestial side. While he greatly admires and looks up to the Winchesters, its through Cas’s influence that the infant Nephilim aspires to be a good person. 

Jack never wants to become the monster his biological father was; desperate to break out of that mold once in for all. And he isn’t alone. Castiel is right there with Jack every step of the way. Ready to challenge and encourage his son whenever he does something decent or makes a mistake. He doesn’t hesitate to tell his son when he’s proud of him. And sometimes he’s there to coddle Jack during times of crisis as displayed in the 14x09 showdown with AU!Michael where the angel takes a second to heal Jack’s minor facial wounds. I just love that tiny focal point of Cas in the background, as the Winchesters are talking, putting his hand on Jack’s shoulder before using his powers on him. As if to keep him calm; like a parent reassuring their nervous kid that it won’t hurt.

Throughout the first part of season 14 we’re blessed with so much affectionate Dadstiel moments like the after-the-battle angst talk in 14x01 where Castiel reminds a very frustrated Jack “you’ve got me” as he declares he has nothing. Or 14x08 after Jack’s death and they’re bittersweetly reunited in Heaven with Kelly; all smiles, touching shoulders and hugging each other as if they can’t bear to be separated. Followed with that heartfelt moment of Castiel tenderly touching his son’s cheeks, sadly looking at him with so much adoration, as he sends his soul back to his body. Then there was their unforgettable father/son pep talk in regards to the vulnerability of Jack’s soul; Castiel just gives his son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he leaves the room. Again, this is how these two say “I love you”.

And I couldn’t very go in depth of this analysis without mentioning 14x20′s Jack death scene 2.0; Castiel helplessly touches his son, who’s screaming on the ground in agony, trying desperately to ease his suffering. Yah this was particularly very hard for me to watch witnessing Castiel going out of his mind, completely unable to save Jack from enduring such a painful end to his life. Once was already cruel enough on me. And of course 15x01 continued that vicious trend of Castiel harrowingly protecting his son’s corpse, carrying him over the shoulder in a fireman’s hold as he runs through the cemetery, then gently lays him down on the floor in a mausoleum. I get emotional watching Cas cradling Jack’s head as he positions him comfortably; letting his touch linger unable to let go. He doesn’t even care what happens to him in this moment as long as his son’s body is safe. Very strong symbolism of a parent who will never abandon their child long after they’re gone. 

On a side note I want to quickly call attention to how much I revere the Dadstiel healing parallels in 14x09 and 14x14 plus BONUS: Jack almost-killing Castiel in 15x13 so he can talk to Ruby in the Empty. These just add some nice little textures in their dynamic which compliments their ongoing tradition of showing devotion through physical communication. And both the healing scenes and the temporary death scene are composited very similarly. Focused on Castiel and Jack’s hands in the process of relieving the other’s pain/life. 

Touch is exhibited as being a very crucial element for both of these characters when it comes to their iron-clad relationship. That palpable part of Castiel and Jack’s connection keeps them closely-knit. Its their familial instinct and how they express their feelings for each other. If they aren’t kneading shoulders, the angel duo is often standing beside each other or firmly linked at the arms. And this usually happens during moments of extreme stress, joy, sorrow, pain or fear. Jack relies so much on Castiel’s parental presence. He respects his authority, disobeying only when his actions feel necessary, and will go to the angel whenever he wants to talk or vent. Jack is also comfortable with Castiel enough to confide his darkest secrets no matter how awful they are. That’s the foundation of the everlasting trust built between them. They’re just tethered to one another in such a way that nothing will divide them. 

I’ll begin with the hospital scene from 14x07 where Castiel is being the rock to his ailing son who can barely stand on his feet. There’s so much anxiety radiating off him in this moment as he struggles with watching Jack suffer; holding him so close. Staring at his face you can tell this horrible situation is ripping him apart. Actually, the entire episode is basically just Castiel silently enduring the pain of Jack dying.

The second set of screencaps underneath are of 14x10; Jack is agitated by AU!Michael’s antagonistic claims that his family’s love for him isn’t unconditional. Reading into one of his greatest fears. But then Castiel instantly calls out to his son, grabs the crook of his arm; gently reassuring him none of this is true. And Jack doesn’t resist this as he knows his dad is sincere. He never has to question Cas’s feelings towards him as his physical touch alone is self-explanatory. But when it comes to the Winchesters, that’s a whole other conversation.    

Next, we have one of my favorite emotionally-charged Dadstiel moments in 14x14; where in a fit of panic because the anti venom wasn’t working Jack, going against Castiel’s warnings not to risk burning off his soul, is compelled to use his powers to save his dad. And I love this because this time its Jack who’s the one initiating all the physical contact. Just as the recovered angel demands what he’s done, his son responds with a soft “you’re okay” and the “I love you dad” shoulder touch as well as firmly gripping his arm.  

Finally stepping away from season 14 I’m going to briefly go over the caps from season 15. Let’s begin with 15x11 the Dadstiel reunion scene at the church which is so beautifully poignant. Castiel is so overjoyed to see Jack alive that he takes a second to look over his equally stunned son, touching his shoulders before they embrace. This is by far one of Cas and Jack’s top father/son moments on the show and it’s done so effectively. If you want a more in-depth description for what I love about this scene, you can read my post about it here.

After that is the 15x13 Dadstiel moment where Castiel, suspicious of Jo’s story about the Occultum, had asked Jack to temporarily kill him in order to go see Ruby in the Empty. Two things I really like about this; 1. even though Jack still doesn’t have a soul, is very concerned about and protective over Castiel because of that deal. And 2. again Jack is initiating all the touching in this scene; look at the way he grasps his dad’s arm as he returns him to life. It’s almost as if he’s hoping the touch of his hand will not only speed up the process but also reach his dad so his essence isn’t lost forever.   

And then we have 15x17. We didn’t get much Dadstiel interaction in this episode but the amount of times Castiel protectively holds onto his agonized child, who’d been turned into a cosmic bomb about to go off any minute, having no regard for the danger he’s in is so visually gut-wrenching. There’s a specific moment in the scene where, as Sam and Dean are arguing, Castiel is sitting on the floor just clutching Jack tight. Trying to non-verbally soothe him.

And this is followed up in the first half of 15x18, aka THEIR VERY LAST EPISODE TOGETHER ever on Supernatural. Here is where everything about their connection comes full circle with Castiel refusing to abandon Jack no matter the situation. Demonstrating the extent of his devotion by willing to die for his child just as he’d sacrificed his happiness to save Jack from the Empty. Because that is his son and nothing not even death itself can ever destroy what they have. Much as the young Nephilim boy begs for his dad to stay away, yells that he doesn’t want to hurt him; Castiel kneeling to Jack’s eye-level doesn’t leave his side. Then when Jack disappears to the Empty and reappears back at the bunker reformed, Castiel’s hand remains firmly glued to his son’s shoulder. He doesn’t want Jack to feel afraid or traumatized any further.

This was such an intense part of the episode I mean just look at how stressed out these two were. The anguish in their expressions. Simply put, Cas and Jack cannot bare to live without the other. They’re each other’s home; two sides of the same soul. Castiel loves all of Jack; the good, the bad and the ugly. This is an EPIC father and son’s love that knows no bounds. So powerful and pure that it transcended the loss of Jack’s soul, Lucifer’s DNA, the Empty, Mary Winchester’s death and everything else in between. Oh, and guess what, their “I love you” Dadstiel shoulder touches aren’t limited to just their hands. Its in every single one of their hugs too.  

Notice how their chins or faces just comfortably rest on top of each other’s shoulders. And except for 14x20 their eyes are shut, as if to savor every single second of that closeness. Jack just buries himself against Castiel like he’s never felt safer with anyone else in the whole universe. And both of them hold each other; giving and receiving the other’s love with their whole self. Like I can’t even begin to describe how much Castiel and Jack’s softness towards each other just melts my heart. Their relationship, despite the horror tongue-in-cheek atmosphere of SPN, is surprisingly sweet, healthy and endearing. They are the epitome of true unconditional love and a great contrast to the Winchester brothers. In my humble opinion Castiel and Jack’s father/son dynamic is the best thing to happen to this show in a long while.

For the closing segment of this analysis I want to do something special before I discuss the paralleled-angst driven Dadstiel shoulder touches in 15x15 and 15x18. First off, I can’t shout enough praise from the rooftops about the insanely remarkable chemistry between Alexander Calvert and Misha Collins. Just brilliant casting. They embody these characters heart and soul and make this relationship feel so real, genuine and grounded. The fact that they look so similar in appearance really sells the idea that these two could actually be father and son. Forget the scripts, the quiet subtly these two bring to Castiel and Jack is the true magic of their relationship.

Let me start with the Dadstiel centric 15x15 aka THE BEST EPISODE of Supernatural season 15. This amazing masterpiece of art is everything I could’ve asked for and more; giving me so much precious father/son content that I will cherish forever. I really enjoyed seeing Castiel and Jack in those matching ties, bonding with each other over a case while they save the day. It’s a shame this show never let these two have more solo adventures together because they’re truly a joy to watch onscreen. Fingers crossed for that spinoff.

But I digress, the car scene in question happens at the very end of the episode in which Jack reveals the alarming truth that he has to die in order to stop Chuck and Amara. And Castiel, visibly and outspokenly distraught by this news, has to be assuaged with that infamous shoulder touch by his son; who’s in just as much pain. This is without a doubt one of most emotional scenes between these two characters out of the last three seasons of the show and quite possibly one of Misha and Alex’s strongest acting moments after the Dadstiel church reunion in 15x11. They killed it with the feels here. I like the attention to detail, the shadows and the colors in the shot, the melancholic score as well as how it seamlessly switches from Jack’s perspective to Castiel’s. Seriously watching this scene always makes me cry its so devastating.

 Lastly, we have the Dadstiel car scene in 15x18; and Castiel and Jack’s LAST ONE-ON-ONE together. I’m kind of disappointed by this if I’m being honest. Its not that its bad its just not that definitively great for a final scene between these characters. Especially after four seasons of development. Where are the stakes? Why don��t Jack and Castiel seem as concerned about their situation? Cute as that smile was it doesn’t fit the tone. And where’s that punch in the gut knowing something is going to separate these two any second? It’s too light and doesn’t come off like a goodbye or a cathartic bookend which is what I wanted to take away from the episode considering its title “Despair”.

I mean if they were going to follow up on that heartbreaking car scene at the end of “Gimme Shelter”, the 15x18 scene wasn’t the way to do it. So, the weight of this final interaction feels almost non-existent. Maybe if it had taken place at night and the dialogue solely focused on them not the Winchesters it would’ve faired better. But since this isn’t a rant post I’ll cut to the chase by saying that the only saving grace this moment has happens in the last part. Jack’s in tears telling his dad how scared he is that he can’t use his powers to protect anyone. Coming off very childlike and vulnerable; needing that parental protection that Castiel was always known for. And sure enough, he gives Jack that final “I love you” shoulder touch which I swear had me choked a little. 

Rethinking about it now that the show is over actually makes their final moment together really sad as incomplete as it is. I not only look back on how much these characters were drastically underutilized but how much the Dadstiel storyline could’ve been executed better with all the development that it was given. Well there you have it my full Dadstiel shoulder-touch analysis. Hope you’ve enjoyed!

[cora-vizsla]

Hypnotic (Taking Over Me)- Chapter 3

Pairing: Eventual Jedi!OC x Sith!Obi Wan

Word Count: 3.7 K

Story Rating: E (18+)

Chapter Rating: I’m just gonna move these up to E now because I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Warning: Swearing. Threats of violence. Cannon typical violence. Calm kidnapping. There was only one bed. Almost naked cuddling. Dare I say fluff??

A/N: Please let me know if I missed any tags!

Zara was unable to fall back asleep. She could feel when Obi Wan finally succumbed to his own exhaustion and it set her on edge. She looked around quietly, keeping tabs on his signature across the building. There had been hope she could find her saber, but he must have stashed it away somewhere.

When she looked down to see her boots by the door, she decided she had no other choice. She couldn’t stay with her captor. There was a lack of clarity she wanted to rip out of her head even if it meant doing something risky. She told herself that Anakin wouldn’t sit around and wait at the mercy of anyone. It wasn’t her normal avenue of actions but hers obviously weren’t working. She shut her eyes and spoke like a mantra that Anakin would want her to fight. He would want her to escape.

Zara quickly pulled on her boots and grabbed a large jacket by the door. She could feel the chill coming through the door but knew that was the only time it was going to happen.

“I am a Jedi knight. I can do this. I can get back and warn the counsel. I can save Anakin.”

She winced when the cold hit her face and she realized then Obi Wan would feel the air change. She pulled the door shut and started running off in the direction she thought they had come from. There were still some footprints, but it was hard to follow. Snow had drifted over part of their journey, so she stopped to look around. Between the cold and running, her chest was heaving trying to pull in air.

“Zara! Zara you are going to die trying to run off like this!”

She whipped around to her captor having already caught up to her.

“I can’t stay here! I can’t let you manipulate me and hurt Anakin. I won’t!”

“You’re smarter than this!”

“Let me go! If you have one shred of decency in you, let me go!”

He stood up tall and shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the ground. He tossed something to Zara, and she caught it quickly, gasping when she realized it was her saber. She looked back up at him as he ignited his blood red blade.

“Fight me. If you can best me, I’ll deliver you back to the temple myself.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you stay here and stop trying to get yourself killed.”

She looked down at her saber and considered what he was saying. She had yet to actually see him fight.

“Letting me go would be directly going against your Master.”

“It would.”

“Then why offer me this?”

“If I can’t best a new Jedi Knight then I don’t deserve to keep her captive.”

Resolution washed over her. She ignited her blade and a sick smile spread across the Siths face. She carefully pulled off her own jacket and set it down, not taking her eyes off her enemy. He spun his saber a few times easily and fluidly.

“Come on, darling, it’s cold out here. Time to get this over with so we can get back in the warmth of our home.”

Zara wanted to snarl but instead closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. She let herself feel everything within the force. She trusted herself and her abilities. When she opened her eyes, she had a new look of determination. She no longer looked at him as Obi Wan, lost Jedi. He was Lord Veth and he needed to be defeated.

Veth was the first to move forward, quicker than she expected, and their sabers clashed together. He gave her a dangerous smile and broke away, quickly striking again with a fury she was not prepared for. She was able to block every swing, but it frustrated her she couldn’t turn it, so she was on the offensive. She could tell he was holding back and only pushing forward to keep her unbalanced. He felt her frustration and laughed when they locked their sabers together again.

“Darling, have I told you how stunning you look in my clothes?”

In frustration, Zara shot her arm out, using the force to push him back. He was able to keep himself on his feet as he immediately moved forward again. With a grin, Zara raised her hand again and a bright light emanated around her. Veth shielded his eyes, temporarily caught off balance.

“Little knight you surprise me.”

“Stars, do you ever shut up?”

“How rude, we were having such a good conversation. How long are you going to keep this up? I’m stronger than you are, sweetheart. You aren’t going to best me in battle.”

She knew he was right. Between fighting off the cold and trying to use the force so much she was getting exhausted. She stepped forward a few steps, hoping the blinding light would protect her movements just a bit. When she dropped her arm and ceased the blinding light, she quickly brought her saber down. Veth seemed to be expecting it when his arm shot up, using the force to wrap tightly around her throat.

“Now, now. That wasn’t very admirable. You are so much better than cheap tricks.”

He kept the force on her long enough that she dropped her saber and clawed at herself. He watched her struggle until tears welled in her eyes.

“Do you yield, darling?”

She shook her head and he sighed in annoyance. He let go, letting her crash to the ground with a thud. When she tried to move further than up to her knees, she realized that he was still using the force to keep her in place.

“I’m not killing you. Nice try though.”

He held his saber up to her chest and watched as the red danced off her face.

“Yield.”

“Why? You said you won’t kill me.”

“I can maim you. Maybe cut one of your legs off so you can’t run anymore. You only really need one hand. Hope you get my point.”

She glared up at him in defiance. He sighed and moved the blade forward, pressing it against her shoulder. Zara cried out from the burn and he shifted his weight, clearly annoyed.

“I’m not really into torture, dear. Please just yield so we can go inside.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He reached forward and touched her head, rendering her unconscious instantly. He caught her and pulled her limp body close to his. Once he made sure he had both sabers he started towards the cabin.

“You have so much to learn, little knight. Hopefully you can accomplish that without many more scars.”

---

Zaras eyes fluttered open to immediately seeing the fireplace. She took inventory of her body and other than the tingle of warming limbs, she seemed to be okay. There were blankets under her as padding on the hard floor and a pillow under her head. When she shifted, she realized that the blankets felt way too soft against her skin. She peeked under the blanket to see that she was wearing nothing but her breast band and underwear.

“Your clothes were wet. Not that you believe anything I say but nothing unfavorable happened to you. I may be a monster, but I am not that type.”

She turned her head to look at him. He was sitting leaning against the wall wearing fresh clothes and his hair was wet where it fell in front of his eyes. She sat up slowly making sure one of the blankets was wrapped around her still.

“I placed a bacta patch on your shoulder. It shouldn’t scar too badly.”

She nodded and continued to look at him.

“Surprised you didn’t put force binders on me.”

“Why? The force is the only reason why you didn’t die out there. I don’t think you understand how inhabitable this planet is.”

“You’re mad at me.”

He sighed and brushed his hair back, finally making eye contact with her.

“I’m disappointed that you would be that reckless. You easily could have died.”

“What does it even matter? You accomplished your goal either way. Anakin is at the mercy of your Master and I am out of the picture.”

“You.. Zara I have met many beings in my travels in my life. I have traveled to many planets and seen wars rage around me. Up until I saw you on the battlefield, I had only ever known of one person that cared so deeply for life. It.. got her killed and the galaxy is darker for it.”

“The one you were in love with?”

He nodded and pulled one knee up so he could rest his arm on it. Zara caught herself wanting to console him but kept still. Master Windu had told her multiple times that her compassion could be dangerous. She didn’t want him to be right, but she was trying to figure out how to console her Sith captor.

“S-Satine. Her name was Satine. I was a padawan still when I went to Mandalore to protect her.”

“She was a Mandalorian?”

“Yes, the leader actually. She needed help because she saw a brighter future for her people. A future free of war and loss. She saw peace when no one else could, myself included.”

“Is that why you fell?”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“No. I told you, the Jedi did that to me. Though finding out she was gone did contribute to my anger.”

“I still don’t see how this connects to me.”

“The first thing I noticed about Satine was the fact that she cared so deeply. When faced with opposition she didn’t want to raise a weapon, she wanted to figure out how to stop everyone else from doing so. I followed you and Anakin on one of your first missions. It was the first opportunity that I could get to you without a Jedi Master sensing me the moment I landed.”

“That was nearly two cycles ago.”

“I know. I stood where I could keep the high ground in case you two noticed me. I expected you two to run in with absolutely no plan.”

“That’s what Anakin wanted to do.”

He nodded and she smiled softly at the memory.

“You though, darling, you had a plan. You had a plan to keep every one of your clone troopers safe. Clones. Quite literally made to be dispensable and replaceable. Yet you talked to them and listened to them. Your plan was good. Not strategic or quick, but it was the path of least resistance.”

Zara’s face fell and she sighed.

“I lost three troopers that day. The counsel let me know it was a success but all I felt was heartache. Life had been lost.”

“I saw that too. You don’t look like her nor do you act like her. Not really. You have the same heart though. I thought it was one of a kind but here you are, shining so brightly it’s sickening.”

Zara laughed and wrapped her covered arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees.

“Wont your Master find you weak for not killing me?”

“No. I told him I could turn you to the dark side.”

“I won’t.”

“I know that, sweetheart. I knew that from the beginning. I also knew that his greed and lust for power would see two incredibly young and strong force users under his control. He only needs Skywalker. He won’t pay as much attention to you. You’re just a bonus.”

“That’s.. devious.”

He chuckled and finally smiled fully.

“What else do you expect? I thought that’s all you saw in Sith.”

“You’re openly deceiving your Master.”

“The end goal of a Sith is to overpower their Master. We don’t work with them. We don’t trust them.”

“That sounds like a very lonely life, Obi Wan.”

He gave her a genuine smile. It was free of malice and ulterior motives. Zara couldn’t help but smile back at him, feeling a strange sense of peace flowing between the two.

“So is a life devoid of love and connections. We have two different types of master’s that lead us to the same cruel fate.”

Zara wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that she was happy being a Jedi and didn’t mind the compromises she had to endure because of it. There was a line she had recited a thousand times when faced with questions about her chosen life. At that moment she couldn’t seem to form it into words.

“Your silences speak volumes, Jedi.”

“So do your actions, Sith. Where does that leave us?”

“I suppose we can figure it out tomorrow.”

“Why rush it? Doesn’t seem like either of us are going anywhere anytime soon.”

“How right you are, little knight. A Jedi and a Sith climb into a ship.”

Zara laughed and grinned at her own joke.

“And somehow find a way to understand each other.”

“For now.”

“Right. For now.”

---

Zara wished she wasn’t comfortable. As she laid next to the fire wrapped in comfortable blankets, she felt warm which was something she had been missing for days. The two had fallen into a comfortable silence. When she heard Obi Wan sigh, she turned to look at him. He looked much less comfortable than when she had woken up.

“Are you okay?”

He startled and looked at her, nodding.

“I’m fine, darling. Don’t fret about me. It’s unbecoming of a Jedi Knight.”

She huffed out a sigh and looked at him closer. She noticed the small tremors in his hands.

“You’re cold.”

“You are so rather perceptive.”

“Is your room warm?”

“Not particularly.”

She looked at all the blankets she was wrapped up in and felt guilty.

“Why don’t.. why don’t you come over here?”

His head snapped up at her question and it made her stifle a laugh.

“I can see that you’re cold. Instead of being warm in your own home you’re making sure that I am.”

“What kind of host would I be if I let you freeze to death.”

“Veth.”

“Again, not that kind of monster. Can’t imagine freezing to death would be very comfortable.”

“Can’t imagine? Looks like you are right now.”

He chuckled and went to retort but Zara wasn’t having it.

“Obi Wan.”

He fell silent and looked at her.

“If you can’t look at it as an act of kindness, look at it as an act of self-preservation. You want me to make smart choices, right?”

“Self-preservation.”

“If you die, I’m stuck on the planet with no idea where your ship is. Sitting in the house with a frozen Sith doesn’t sound fun.”

He chuckled and got up, walking over to where she was curled up by the fire. He slipped his outer shirt off and hesitated. Zara held open the blankets, so he climbed in, making sure he wasn’t touching her. When he let out a sigh at the heat she smiled.

“Between the fire and how warm it is in here you should be comfortable soon.”

“It’s already leagues better.”

“Good.”

He looked at her steadily enough that she could see all the shades in his eyes. When he wasn’t threatening or yelling at her she thought that they were almost beautiful. He reached up and gently pushed her hair back, his fingers grazing her skin.

“Stars, Obi Wan, you’re freezing.”

“I’ll survive.”

“You’ve really got to stop running out into the cold chasing stupid Jedi.”

He smirked and nodded, looking down as Zara took his hands in hers.

“Not to be crass, but you would get warmer if you weren’t wearing your clothes.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re taking all my lines, sweetheart.”

“Just self-preservation, remember?”

“Right. Not an ounce of kindness.”

“For you? Absolutely not. Never.”

He hummed and slipped his shirt off before doing the same with his pants. He was left wearing only his own underwear making it easier for Zara to see just how discolored his skin was.

“Veth, now who is being foolish.”

“I like it better when you call me Obi Wan.”

“Well, Obi Wan doesn’t sound like a fool. So, when you’re acting foolish then I’ll call you by a foolish name.”

He chuckled and shifted closer. They both told themselves it was to get more heat. Both were convinced that the only reason the other was close was to ensure they survived. Survival was smart. Sharing a bed with a sworn enemy was not. So, the easiest way to deal with their situation was to convince themselves that everything was simple.

“Then what do I call you when you’re being foolish?”

“Hmm. You usually call me Jedi.”

“It is one of the worst insults I know.”

“Watch it.”

They both laughed and Zara yawned.

“Get some sleep. Please don’t bolt out the door again.”

“I couldn’t escape without waking you regardless. You’re on the outside of this blanket cocoon. I’d have to uncover you.”

“Very true.”

“Turn around. Face the fire so you can get some heat from it.”

“You could just tell me I’m ugly.”

“Shut up, Veth.”

Obi Wan chuckled and rolled to his right, reveling at the heat of the fire on his face. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had been rather cold. When he felt a small arm wrap around him and Zara’s body press against his back, he had to stop himself from flinching. He felt her rest her forehead against his upper back and nestle in. He could have groaned at how warm she was but absolutely didn’t want to scare her off.

“Maker you’re cold. Next time you kidnap someone bring them to a more temperate planet.”

He chuckled and gently moved his arm, so he could place his hand over hers.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.”

He felt her nestle in deeper, getting comfortable up against him. He smiled to himself when her sigh danced across his skin right before she fell asleep. He knew that he should be trying to turn her to the dark. His Master would be furious at his weakness. The idea of trying to corrupt someone so light and kind was repulsive to him.

He could feel her breath steadily fan across his back as she slept peacefully. He hated the Jedi, that much was true. He would never be able to go back nor would he be able to escape the darkness that held him so tightly. Zara didn’t make him forgive the Jedi, but he found himself forgiving her for being one.

It had been a very long time since Obi Wan felt anything but contempt for another living being. He could hardly remember what it felt like to have someone’s arm wrapped around him, no matter the circumstance. He tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t feel anything but the physical sensation of warmth.

The truth though? That warmth meant everything to him.

---

When Zara woke, she didn’t want to open her eyes. She felt warm and comfortable regardless of how sore her body was. She nestled her face into the warmth in front of her and let out a sleepy sigh. When she felt something shift, she froze.

“Did you forget you fell asleep next to me?”

She opened her eyes and found herself looking directly at Obi Wan’s bare chest. He had his arms wrapped around her, holding her close to him.

“I guess I did. Uhm. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We are both warm. Survival, right?”

She nodded against him, tentatively letting herself nestle back into the heat surrounding them.

“I didn’t.. I didn’t wake you at all I hope?”

“If you had any nightmares they didn’t show. Do you have them most nights?”

“Sleep isn’t something that is usually peaceful for me.”

“Perhaps there was enough darkness around you that your mind didn’t need to manifest any of it.”

Zara looked back up as he looked down, locking eyes with her.

“Your darkness is.. different.”

“Oh?”

He had an amused look on his face but the hesitance in his eyes told Zara that he was uncomfortable. She shook her head and looked back down. They had come to a tentative peace, but he was still dangerous. A different type of darkness didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. Obi Wan gently hook his finger under her chin, tilting her head back up.

“You have nothing to fear, darling.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

He hummed as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

“I suppose you are correct. I don’t want you to fear me though. I will not harm you outside of necessity. Now tell me, what did you mean?”

Zara took a steady breath, willing down the nervousness and trepidation. She wasn’t used to being close to people, let alone someone who was an enemy of everything she stood for. She was vulnerable which was something she just was not comfortable with.

“That first day that I saw you, when you confronted Anakin and me. I felt your darkness. I felt it long before I saw you. I’m no stranger to the dark side but I also have never felt it the way that you carry it. You’re dark but.. you’re not chaotic. I see you calculating everything. As much as you say that I am different for my reverence for life, you are different too.”

“You picked all that up when we met?”

“I picked up on it but the longer I’ve been around you the more I see it. I’ve run into other Sith. I’ve fought them. Their energy was hard to be around because it was so unstable.”

“Are you saying I am less of a Sith?”

“No. Your eyes let me know that truth. It’s not that you’re light.”

He chuckled and moved his hand, so he was cupping her face.

“Your darkness is strong. It’s powerful but it isn’t all consuming like the others I’ve come across. You have a control over yourself that rivals even some of the strongest Jedi I have known.”

“Hmm, that almost sounds like a compliment.”

“I guess it is. At the very least it’s an admittance of me being taken by surprise. You are.. not what I expected.”

“Neither are you, darling. Neither are you.”

Tag List:

@mapplestrudel​

If you would like to be added/removed please let me know

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - x (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: The truth finally comes out.

Warnings: brief mention of sex, mentions of death, really shitty writing tbh, dialogue driven. (NOTE: when concerning the flashbacks, he’s actually explaining to the reader what happened)

Word Count: 2.5k

Note: Feel free to send me any questions because I know this is a really crappy chapter. (of course, I’m not going to reveal the rest of the plot)

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

You could still taste the salt from the sea on your lips. The memories of what happened aboard that ship still fresh like a wound that you’d carry forever. You stared at your hands that were conjoined with your husband’s. The wedding bands glistened in the dimmed room.

“Will you believe me if I told you everything?” Steven asked. His thumb drew soothing circles on the back of your hand. His grip tight as if he were afraid you’d disappear again.

“Everyone’s lied to me.” You whispered. You looked towards Wanda’s body, still covered with the bloodstained tarp. “What would make you any different?”

“This is the truth,” he promised. “The complete truth.”

When Steven was young, his mother doted on him because he was a sickly child. He grew up to have her compassion, optimism, and idealism. He was sixteen when his father unexpectedly died, and he was hailed King of Brooken. He wanted to carry his mother’s ideals into a new age for Brooken, but he underestimated what it meant to have a crown on his head.

The sacrifices he’d have to make, the betrayals he’d have to face, the blood he’d have to spill. He’s told more lies that he could count – all in the name of protecting his reputation and his power. A cruel king is respected after all. The lies were like storm clouds that poured hard. He drowned in them and got lost in the darkness those clouds brought. The lies burdened him more than anyone would ever know.

You squeezed hand, breaking him away from his thoughts. “Steve?” Your tone was soft, coaxing him back into reality. He welcomed the calm you brought. It eased the storm inside of him. You were ready for the truth – perhaps, you’ve always been ready. “Unburden yourself, my love.”

“I don’t know where to start.” He said, honestly. It was true. There was so much to the story. He wasn’t quite sure where it began.

“Start with Margaret, perhaps?” You suggested.

“I was young,” he began. “Twenty-one years old. Five years on the throne. They told me I needed a wife.”

“They?”

“Pierce and the old council.” He answered. “Brock’s father had just died, so he took the vacant seat. At first, I thought having my cousin on the council would alleviate the tension. The lords on the council were nearly twice my age, if not more. They saw things differently than I did. They wanted different things. Sometimes I felt as if I were their puppet. I was young when I took the throne. Sixteen. I didn’t know what to expect, so I leaned on their counsel. I depended on them,” he scoffed, remembering his earlier years on the throne. “They told me I needed to continue the line succession. Thanos was beginning to make a name for himself by this time. He had lovers and spawned two daughters. His line was growing, and the Rogers’s wasn’t. So, I asked them to find me a match. Pierce brought in Lady Margaret of House Carter. I was smitten when I first laid eyes on her.”

Steven sat tall upon his throne. The room was empty. Brooken had a tradition that detailed that those in royal betrothals must meet for the first time in private. He was giddy with excitement. Lady Margaret’s portraits were presented to him a month ago. She was easily one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen. Lord Pierce made the arrangements and they were to marry within a week. “House Carter is a respected house in the Old World,” Pierce advertised.

The doors opened wide and a young woman walked through. Her hair was dark as night. Her lips painted a bright red. She smiled at him and bowed. “Your grace,” she greeted. “I am humbled to make your acquaintance and, of course, honored to be your betrothed.”

“I didn’t know her, truly. I didn’t realize how manipulative she was from the beginning. She charmed and enchanted me to do her bidding. We were married for nearly a decade. No children. She didn’t want children. I didn’t want to lose her, so I agreed.

“She had many faces. A face she’d show the people that made them love her. A face she showed me that hypnotized me. And the face she’d show my allies, which were her foes. She fought with James incessantly – even tried to make me banish him. I refused. He was my oldest friend. I promised the moment I took the throne, my riches, my blessings were his to share. She was trying to isolate me. She banished my allies from court. James warned me she was a devil. I refused to listen. I thought her a gift from the gods themselves. Until I caught her poisoning my mother.”

“What?” You gasped.

Steven nodded. The haunting memory pained him still.

He woke up alone after a long night of making love to his queen. It was early in the morning; the sun had barely risen. Orange streaks painted the sky. He searched for Margaret, wanting to jest her for allowing him to wake up alone. He found her whispering to his sick, elderly mother who was bedridden due to a broke hip.

“You won’t get away with it. My son will find out,” his mother croaked.

“Not from you,” Margaret gave her a wicked smile as she slathered arsenic-riddled paint on his mother’s toast. The thick substance looked like jam, but Steve knew better. She force-fed the queen mother the poisoned bread.

“What are you doing!” Steve boomed into the room, pushing his wife aside as his mother choked. “Guards! Get a physician!”

“She died later that evening.” Steven shook his head. It was your turn to console him. You released one of your hands from his grip and rubbed his arm. He took a shaky breath. “I stabbed Margaret in the heart in front of Rumlow, Pierce, James, and Sam’s father. I didn’t know, yet, that her betrayals were much deeper than the murdering my mother.”

“Enter Sharon?” You asked.

“I was widowed for a year. Pierce brought her in. The younger cousin of Margaret.” He continued. “Married two days after her arrival in Brooken.” He chuckled humorlessly at his naivete. “I should’ve never marry a stranger.”

“We married in two weeks.” You noted. “We were practically strangers, too.”

Steven shook his head in disagreement. He didn’t feel that way. In the two weeks he grew to know you, he learned the innerworkings of your mind, your soul. He knew he was in love with you, truly, even before he wrapped the cloak around your shoulders during the wedding ceremony.

“We weren’t strangers.” He said. “Far from it. Sharon was distant. Defiant. We never consummated our marriage, not that anyone would know. She refused to sleep in my chambers, refused to be held, or anything, really. It felt as if I had married a ghost that everyone could see. I couldn’t touch her, but she still haunted these halls.”

“You beheaded her.” You said. Steven bit his lip as he nodded. “Pierce said you beheaded her out of spite.”

Steven cocked his head to the side, brows raising, as if he entertained the idea. “Well, she was spiteful.”

“The men in the prisons… They preferred her over you and you imprisoned them, correct?”

Steven sighed. He was disappointed that you were so quick to believe rumors and lies about him, but he blamed himself for not being completely honest from the start. “Sharon plotted a coup on behalf of the Mad King.”

“How can you be certain?” You asked.

“She admitted it when she was caught.”

Steven stared down at the blonde. Her eyes wide as he finished reading her encrypted letter. “You’re not subtle. You’re not discreet.” He spat at her, crumpling the paper and throwing it at her feet. “You work for the Mad King. You’re here to topple me. Rip the crown from my head and give it to him. The game’s over, Sharon. You’ve lost. Your followers all caught and imprisoned. I will get a confession and you will die for treason.”

She recomposed herself, rolling back her shoulders with confidence. “You think you can just kill off another queen? What will people think of you, Steven.”

“I am pulling the weeds from my kingdom.” He snapped. “You Carters are all the same. Traitors. Liars.”

“Margaret was good.” Sharon complimented. “She had you wrapped around her finger for a decade. If she hadn’t been caught killing your mother, then she would’ve convinced you to ally yourself with Thanos.” She turned her head to the side and gave him a smirk. “Then, she would’ve killed you along with your mother. Such a shame, she was caught.”

“You admit. You’re a traitor.”

“Of course, I admit it. But mind you, your grace, your enemies are all over Brooken. You cut me down today, someone else will cut you down tomorrow.”

“I beheaded her for treason.”

“You didn’t tell people that your queens were committed treason. You allowed rumors to spread about your cruelty to your wives.” You frowned.

“As I told you before, a cruel king is respected.” Steven muttered. “But I never wanted you to be afraid of me.”

“Isn’t it odd?” You asked. “Both queens chosen by Pierce were traitors.”

Steven nodded. “They pushed me to get married once more, but I told them, this time I’ll choose my bride.”

“Me.”

“It’s three years after the War between the North. Tony and I were close before. I fought alongside your father when York was invaded ages ago.”

“You fought over a disagreement over land.”

“More than land. He wanted James dead. James’s father killed your grandfather. Since James’s father had died long before, your father asked for my friend’s head. I refused. So, a war erupted.”

“You traded blows with my father on the battlefield.” You recalled. You remembered your mother’s cries and pleads with the gods, asking for them to protect your father’s life. “He returned to my mother bloodied. You cut through his armor. But you looked him in the eyes and called the war off.”

“No one won.”

“No one.” You agreed. “Three years later, you ask my father for a wife.”

“I needed a wife I could trust. Although we had our differences, I trust your father with my life. I know Tony’s blood. I know how you would’ve been raised to be loyal. You took after your father and your mother.” Steven explained. “I didn’t trust Pierce to find me a wife that could slit my throat in the night.”

“You trust me?” You asked.

“The moment I stared into your eyes and saw fear… I knew you knew the rumors. I knew you thought of me as cruel – our first encounter made that clear.” He smiled at you softly. His fingers lightly traced the scars of your wrist. He brought your wrist to his lips and pressed a light kiss onto the skin. “But, truthfully, my trust in you waned when I saw you with Brock and Pierce leaving the dungeon. I began to think you were conspiring with them.”

“I – I – I wasn’t.”

“I know that now.” He said. “I realized you were afraid of disappointing me because you didn’t … you weren’t –“

“Pregnant.” Your voice wavered, immediately brought back to the painful memory of losing your baby alone on the boat. “I should’ve told you I was, though. But I was afraid. I thought you were going to kill me. You struck me.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” Steven shook his head. No amount of apologizes could ever make up to the faded scar on your cheek.

“I was afraid for my life and the child’s. They manipulated me because of my fears. They prayed upon it and convinced me to trust them. And I did. In turn, I – I lost my best friend and my baby.”

Steve pulled you to him. Your head rested in the junction between his neck and shoulder as you cried softly into him. He rubbed your arm, comfortingly.

“They tried to turn you against me.” Steven whispered. “They tried to weaken me by trying to kill you on that boat. I thank the gods that you’re safe now.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth.” You muttered.

Steven nodded and kissed the top of your head. His arm around you tightened a bit. “You should sleep. Get some rest. You need it after what you’ve endured.”

You agreed. Steven untangled himself from you before he leaned down to press a kiss to the scar on your cheek and a kiss on your lips. He began to walk away when you felt panic begin to settle. Your hand shot out and grabbed onto his arm, preventing him from taking another step.

“Please stay.” You begged. “I… I don’t want to be alone.”

He gave you a soft smile and nodded. You scooted over the cot to make room for your husband. The positioning was a bit awkward considering his massive build, but you immediately felt safer once his arms wrapped around you once again.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You woke up alone in Steven’s bedchamber. The sun had already set, the full moon up in the sky. The pain had subsided after nearly a day of rest. The truth settling in inside your mind.

At least now you knew everything.

The doors opened suddenly to reveal your husband. He smiled at you as you sat up on the bed. “You’re awake.”

“You left me alone.”

Steven’s smile faltered. He couldn’t register if there was sadness in your voice or not as he walked over. “I – I hadn’t meant to upset you.”

You shook your head. “I understand. You’re a king. Your duty is to the people, not to me.”

“I am your husband, first.” Steve argued. “My duty will always be to you, my love.” He took your hand in his and helped you off the bed. “Come. There’s something I must show you.”

He led you to the balcony doors, opening it and allowing the air rush into the room. You breathed it in. The mixed scents from the gardens below overtook your senses, washing out the pained sea salt smell that still haunted you.

Steven guided you out onto the terrace and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in front of him. You gasped as you looked up to the sky. Along with the bright moon and the stars were lanterns that floated into the air and painted the dark sky.

“For years, I stumbled alone in the darkness. Feigned love with false queens who sought to destroy me. And here you are. The true gift the gods bestowed upon me. I truly believe you were crafted to be my soulmate, (Y/N).” He murmured in your ear. “I wish I could take away the pain you’ve endured, but I cannot. I can only tell you whatever comes next, we will face it together as husband and wife.” Tears swelled in your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks as you stared up into the bright sky. “I love you, my light, my love.”

You smiled and turned to him, cupping his bearded cheeks in your hands. “I love you, Steve.”

[sapphire-writing]

In the Woods pt. 1

Title: In the Woods pt. 1

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: wanted to kill you, def going to be a good s/o, mediocre writing

Shortly after the other park tower had signed off, you got a call. It was a man who had gone camping and gotten chased off away from his stuff by something. What it was, the man didn't say and that left curiosity burning in your mind. It wasn’t unusual for people to call the tower at night but you decided that just in case it would be best to have him go to the other tower. You didn’t want to end up with a creepy man stuck in this tiny room with you for hours.

You took the radio and walked over to the large map that was pinned to the corkboard on the north wall. You glanced up at the window above the door to your right and a shiver went down your spine. Chased off the path by some mysterious creature sounded like something you didn’t want to deal with tonight. Actually you didn’t want to deal with it on any night but here you were hoping that this man had enough wits about him to make sure that he followed your directions.

It was actually a very simple park with enough land mark and trail markers for someone to follow. Thankfully this camper at least was somewhat prepared to be in the wild and had brought a compass. The glorified pond, that we called a lake, was directly north of my tower. There was even a path that looped around the lake and then branched off in the far north east corner of the map towards the other tower.

When the camper reached the split in the path that would lead him to you, you hesitated. Would he be okay by himself? Would he even be able to get into the other tower to hide? If it was a bear why was it still chasing him? Nothing seemed to make sense.

“Hurry up! I think it’s getting closer! If I get eaten by some creature on my vacation from work I swear-”

You clicked the button and interrupted him. “Continue straight ahead. That path with lead around the lake. I’m going to have you go to the empty park tower since someone will be showing up there sooner than someone will come here. You’ll be completely safe there.”

Mumbled curses came through the receiver. This man sure had a lot of opinions for someone who needed their life saved. If everyone in the world was as picky as this... the world would suck.

Suddenly a roar echoed through the forest and sent the man screaming through the speaker. You winced and put you hand as far away from you as you could. All you could hear was ragged breathing, snow crunching, and the wind howling. For what felt like hours but was only mere minutes, you listened to this camper run for his life from something that wasn’t human.

The corkboard above the bed was riddled with cut out news stories telling about the missing campers from over the years. All of the ones who were never found were labelled a bear attack. You tried to recall what a bear actually sounds like. Whatever it was it couldn’t be what you heard. What you heard was too... human almost.

“I think I lost it.” The radio crackled and gave static. “Lost... It?”

“I heard you the first time,” you said. “Where are you now? Can you see anything that I could perhaps see on the map?”

The camper took a deep breath. “I-I think I see a split up ahead. The lake is still visible too. Uh off to my left and that’s where the path goes. Towards the left.”

You stuck a tack into the map. He wasn’t too far from the other tower now. At least you didn’t think he would be. If he thought the path went towards the left than he should be almost there. The path would branch northeast and northwest leading to the other tower and the abandoned mine respectively.

Some part of you wondered if you should lead him to the tower. Whatever was out there clearly didn’t like him so what was the harm in letting the man get added to the board on the wall. It’s not like you knew him. It’s not like you weren’t risking yourself by letting him go to the other tower.

“I’m... Hungry.”

“What was that?” you asked. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“I never said anything. Are you sure you shouldn’t get a different job?”

You hesitated before responding. “It was probably just the wind. Forget about it. Have you reached the fork in the path? If so you should take a right. That’ll bring you to the tower. Make sure you don’t take the left path.”

The camper paused. “Why shouldn’t I take the left?”

“That leads to the abandoned mine and I’m sure that that is a bad idea if you’re trying to hide from something.”

The rest of the time was spent in a stressed silence. Part of you wanted to try to see if you could see the camper from outside but another part of you didn’t want to face the cold of winter and whatever was out there. You had to trust that the camper was smart enough to get himself to the tower with what you’d told him.

The minutes seemed to drag on. Each second felt like a minute causing each minute to feel like an hour. Time was slowing down for just you leaving the rest of the world continuing to tick on in the same steady manner. You had to have hope that this would work out. The camper would reach the tower. He would be safe.

By the time the camper had reached the empty tower, it was already midnight. The soft red numbers let off an almost eerie glow in the still air of the tower. Everything around you was holding its breath as you listened to the creaking of the rickety stairs underneath the man’s feet.

A small sound of joy was heard from the speaker and the camper’s footsteps sped up. The door to the other tower gave an unhappy creak as it was ripped open and gave an even more unhappy sound as it was slammed shut and locked.

“I don’t think I’m safe here either. This place looks likes its one bad wind away from falling over. How do you expect me to stay here overnight?” He was scared and snapping at you. “This isn’t a funny joke! I need to know I’m not alone out here! I’m going to die in this miserable tower all alone in these stupid woods!”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously you aren’t alone but if it makes you feel better I guess I can turn the floodlights on for a second. Would that make you feel better, sir?”

 “Y-yeah. I guess that thing just is really getting to me. Turing on the lights would be a help. Can you play like a radio or something too? The scratching on the door is sending a chill up my spine like nothing ever has.”

You pulled on your extra coat and opened the door. Snow was once again settling on the deck that wrapped around the tower. Rubbing your hands together, you flipped on the flood lights. After a second of the light filling the forest, you turned them off and headed back inside.

The camper thanked you over the radio. “I owe you my life. That thing even left so maybe I can get some sleep.”

All you did was sigh before telling him that someone would be there in five hours. It was the only thing you could do now. The man was in the other tower, he was no longer being pestered by whatever chased him through the forest.

Just moments later, the sound of something scraping against the metal door interrupted your thoughts. Two red, glowing eyes peered in at you through the window above the door. A shiver went down your spine as you realized that whatever had been after the camper was now at your door.

Despite yourself, you moved closer. There were no horrid scratching sounds from the other side. Just an eerie red stare that seemed too intelligent for any common creature that would go after a human. You knew as soon as you heard the roar the first time. This was way more that a bear.

You ripped open the door causing the cold air of the winter night blow in. Despite the fear and dread in your stomach, you grabbed the clawed and furry hand of the creature.. You tugged whatever it was in and slammed the door shut. You knew that with that move you had sealed your fate for better or for worse.

You dropped the creature’s hand, or maybe it was really a paw, and backed away. The desk was now bare since the winter wind had kicked everything onto the floor. As you proceeded to sweep up the papers that were now on the floor, the monster watched you curiously.

The garbled voice of the camper asked, "What are doing?"

You turned around in shock and ran a hand through your hair. "It's freezing outside. Aren't you cold? You should warm up."

Instead of answering, the creature stepped closer and peered down at you with glowing and curious, eyes. You smiled warily at it and set a pot on the hot plate. You tried to keep your eyes on the creature at all times as you set up two cups of tea. It wasn’t too hard to keep it in your sight though given that It appeared to take up at least a quarter of the space you were in.

You pushed a warm cup of steeping tea into the clawed hands startling the creature. Picking your own up and holding it in your hands, you looked down at the floor in shock. You were an idiot. An idiot who decides that monsters can be befriended and all you have to do is give them tea. At least you provided it with something to wash your body down with.

“What... are you doing?” The voice seemed to be farther from the camper’s own voice and more like your own. “I... kill.”

Your eyes once again met the creature’s before returning to the floor. You didn’t know how to answer that question. Part of you felt fear. Another part of you felt something deeper. Some sort of emotion that was warmer and kinder. It felt like sympathy.

Suddenly you picked up your lunch bag. “It was you who said you were hungry right? I can’t let you kill a camper, at least I couldn’t let you do it emotionally, but I made too much for lunch so you can have the rest. That way no one gets hurt. At least I hope no one does.”

"Honestly I think you're amazing. If you were the one chasing the camper them you move really fast and you're so tall and probably really strong," you spilled. "I just think that your probably better than most people."

The monster sat down on the bed and watched you bustle around the tower. You pulled out the extra blankets and put the papers where they should be. You could tell that it was watching you and you knew that your face was getting warm.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" you asked it. "I think I can probably find something in my lunch bag if you're hungry."

Once again a broken voice spoke, "Aren't you... afraid?"

You hesitated. “Honestly? I’m terrified. But really what’s the worst you’re going to do? I mean yeah dying sounds bad but at least I don’t have to be the weird person who moved here and now works in the forest all alone.”

The creature looked at you with what could’ve been pity before shoving your triple decker sandwich into its mouth. Sharp teeth tore through the sandwich as if it was paper and you felt a new surge of fear run through your veins. If it did that to a sandwich you didn’t want to know what it could do to people.

“Do you... need to sit?”

You glanced around the room for the chair but found it on the floor unable to be used. The only spot would be the bed that the creature had decided to use to fit easier in the room. The red eyes studied you for a moment before shift to perch on the very end of the bed.

“I-I suppose I do. It’s not every day I see someone like you.”

You sat down in silence as the creature raided your lunch. Your hands were shaking and you could feel the almost burning tea drip down the sides of your mug. Part of you wanted to move your hands, set down the mug, and blow on the spots but you were still scared.

“Burn.”

The creature grabbed your hand and looked at the bright red marks that the tea had left. Its eyes seemed to ponder what could’ve made the mark before reaching for your other hand.

“I’m fine! Its just the tea is still too warm. I must’ve made it too hot so be careful with yours.”

Silently, the creature pointed to the empty and discarded mug that was laying on the floor.

“Already had tea.”

With surprising delicacy, the creature took your tea from you and set it on the floor. It brought your hands to its face and gently licked the splotches of red that the tea had left you with. You were in shock and you couldn’t move. You felt like you couldn’t even breath.

“T-thanks. I guess it did hurt a bit.”

You turned your face away from the creature as your mind raced. Where did this kind of sweet and more gentle side come from? Was this really the same creature that had been chasing the camper? Why did your heart start beating faster?

“Must leave. Almost time.”

You felt your heart drop. “Will you come back? I’m usually all alone when I work and just having someone else there would be comforting I suppose. I could even bring you back something else that you’d like.”

Sharp claws gently traces the recent marks on your arms. Glowing eyes gazed at you with a sort of sadness that you didn’t think a dangerous creature could feel.

“Tomorrow,” it said before gesturing to the door.

Hesitantly you opened the door and the creature lumbered out leaving you with no food and a strange feeling in your chest.

This is actually based off the first horror game that I ever watched someone play. It wasn’t even a horror game but I was also in my monster lover phase and two years later I’m finally writing it. I’m actually pretty excited and can’t wait to have this bring me back into writing! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

~Love Sapphire

[ssson-of-sparda]

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - PART 2 (DANTE X FEM!READER)

Summary: When Dante shows up, Patty finally learns how things ended between Y/N and him but that's not the kind of ending she likes. (Part 5 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Tags: Dante is Tony Redgrave / Love / Angst / Blood and Gore / Minor Character Death / Violence

Author’s note: This is the end! I hope you enjoyed this fan fiction as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can't wait to read your thoughts about it. Is it the end you expected? How did you imagine it? Tell me everything. I'm all ears

Patty dared peeping from above the headrest of the couch when the woman opened the door, definitely curious to see the two adults’ reactions when they would finally see each other – though she still feared Dante’s wrath a little.                 But when she finally saw them face-to-face, this couple she had been imagining – and rooting for - for weeks, she didn’t care about her friend’s anger or disappointment - He would definitely thank her later - . They looked so perfect, like coming from an episode of one of those telenovelas she loved so much. Dante was towering Y/N perfectly and she was so pretty. And the lighting.  Gosh “Like a scene from a movie.” She sighed. If only she could read their minds right now.      “There you are, young lady!” Dante declared with a menacing finger as he entered the house            “Hi Dante! What are you doing here?” Patty tried to play innocent but there was something in her voice that couldn’t fool Dante. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never thought this annoying little brat would dare come here … or steal my stuff.”  “That’s alright, Dante. We were having fun actually. And at least, that girl dared visit me … unlike someone else.” Dante definitely felt that sting and he knew he deserved it. “How long has it been?” “A while.” He said, pretending to be casual even though he had the right amount of years and months in mind. “And this day never happened. Come on, Patty. Let’s go.”             No, no, no. This couldn’t end like that. Patty thought. Not after all this time. “Can I at least finish my tea please?”                  “ I’ll buy you a tea on the way back to Red Grave. Let’s go!” Dante insisted as he came closer to the girl to grab her by the arm and drag her away from Y/N’s place as fast as possible. “Right. Like I’m going to believe you. You never buy me anything, even when you owe me.” Y/N smiled while Dante sighed deeply. “Damn it.”                  “ Plus, you still owe me a trip to the beach.”   “ Alright. I’ll take you to the beach. You happy? Now let’s go.” He tried to pull her from the sofa but the girl resisted.             “ Or … you can let Y/N finish her story.” Patty suggested. Dante glanced at Y/N whom he hadn’t seen go to the kitchen to prepare him a strawberry sundae. “Actually I’d prefer that. Y/N can you continue your story, please?”   “ Well, maybe Dante can tell you so that you can finally erase his tab while I’m making this devil a strawberry sundae. Topped with a cherry and two pink wafers, is that it?”           “I don’t know. You’re the pro.” He had a faint smile at her that Patty noticed and beamed at. About time. “Where did you stop you damn story?”

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - Part 2

Dante was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, a magazine covering his face while he was listening to some good old school metal on the jukebox he had just acquired when the damn machine starting to sizzle and shake. “You gotta be kidding me.” Dante complained and, with a deep sigh, got up from his chair to kick the jukebox like Y/N had once taught him. “Funny how those machines always need a good kick to work.”          When he thought of his beloved girlfriend and realised how late it was, he wondered how the hell she had not arrived yet. It was very dark outside and the clock was striking one. The restaurant should be closed by now and Y/N should have been in his arms at least an hour ago, naked preferably.

Not sure Patty needs to know that.

Worry tied Dante’s stomach in a knot in spite of his sleepy brain screaming at him not to be paranoid. “Relax, Dante. She’s probably helping clean the kitchen or something”, he told himself     And yet, tired of repeating this sentence over and over again in his head, he decided to grab his coat and head to the diner. Better be paranoid and look like fool rather than wait here and worry one more second. Plus, he had waited long enough already and he had made a fool of himself in front of Y/N more than once. So what was one more time, huh?

But when Dante arrived at the restaurant and found it empty and dark, he wished he looked like a paranoid fool. But he was not paranoid and he was not a fool. He was terrified and alert in ways he hadn’t been for years. “Please be okay.” He whispered as he entered the place, feeling once again like a little boy hidden in a cupboard, crying for mommy and his brother. A ghastly feeling for someone who had spent years burying his past deep in his armoured heart as a promise … a dying wish.

Dante climbed the stairs quickly, very quickly and yet not quickly enough to his taste, only to stop and freeze at the sight and smell of warm blood on the wooden floor. But there was not just iron and salt flowing to his nostrils, there was this stench, rotting and disgusting, a stench only his demon sense could pick but that would soon be unbearable for humans too, he was sure of it. The stench of decaying corpses.

The son of Sparda never really liked Y/N’s parents. He actually lost almost all sort of respect for them the second they insulted him and made him understand they would never approve of him or of his relationship with their precious daughter. But when he saw them both, drenched in blood and completely ripped apart, their broken bodies lying on the floor of in their bedroom, he couldn’t help but feel sadness and compassion especially for the woman who was standing in the corner of the room, petrified and in tears, her small feminine frame strongly hold in a demonic grip. A nightmarish vision that had been scaring Dante for too long.               “Took you long enough… Son of Sparda.” The demon said with a calm and yet menacing cavernous voice that would make anyone tremble in fear. But that wasn’t the sound of his voice that made Dante afraid – because yes he was afraid –

You? Afraid? Rrr, shut up!

It was the sight of the woman he loved so close to that monster’s sharp claws.           The half-demon squinted at the devil before him, at his cloaked silhouette hidden in the darkness, trying to hide his fear, turning it into a nonchalant and over-confident mask he knew how to wear better than anything else (except his red leather jacket) but that somehow didn’t look as convincing as usual. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy, pal. Sparda may have a son. But that's not me.”          “Tony, what’s going on?” Y/N’s voice was shaking just like the rest of her body.            “It’s alright, baby. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” He had too.        “You can try and pretend to be someone else. But I know who you are. Dante, Son of Sparda. And soon, your blood will flow for what your father did to my master.” Usually, that same old routine would have made Dante scoff and slice that creature in two for he was used to demons coming at him with pathetic threats and silly villain monologues. But today, what was at stake was simply way too important for impulsiveness.           “And who would that master be?”         “The one true king of the underworld. Mundus.”

Dante had heard that name before, long ago, in something that was now a long-time memory. Mundus was the villain of his favourite bedtime story, the one his father would always tell him and Vergil before going to sleep, when they were nothing but kids tucked in their beds.            Mundus. He remembered how that name would make him fidget and jump in anticipation and how his big brother in the bed under his would always kick him through the mattress to make him stop wriggling like a hyperactive goldfish out of water.            Mundus, the so-called Prince of Darkness Sparda had cast away and locked in the underworld a long long time ago to free the human world from his diabolical tyranny. Never thought he would have ever heard about him in another context though.

“Oh. That dude. Thought he would be dead by now… like you soon will be”    “Cocky, just like that filthy betrayer Sparda.” The demon smiled, showing short pointy black fangs that yet shone in the dim moonlight. “And in love with a human, just like he was. It would be a shame …” He grabbed a strand of Y/N’s (colour) hair to toy with it with a vicious smirk, making the young woman shiver even more. “… if something were to happen to her the same way something happened to your slut mother” Dante felt his jaw clench tight and his nails pierce the flesh of his palms. The rage, it was slowly yet surely eating at him.               “Don’t you dare talk about my mother! And don’t you dare lay even just a finger on Y/N!” Dante growled, not realising he had just given his identity up. But the black demon did and with a satisfied smile, he cupped Y/N’s face in between his vile sharp claws to burry his long nose in Dante lover’s soft hair and smell her human perfume that was oh so exquisite to him. An intended provocation and an effective one.      “How chivalrous! How noble! I’m sure your father would have said the same thing…” Dante frowned and clenched his fists even tighter, trying to stay put and in control, trying desperately to resist the powerful will to pounce on that demon and impale him on his sword and spill his guts on the floor. He knew he had too because he knew that the reaction he thought so much about was exactly what that monster wanted.           He was trying to infuriate him, to make him reckless and stop thinking rationally so that he would have him at a possible advantage when he let his rage have the best of him. Provocation at its finest. A strategy Dante knew all about. “… had he been here when I and my fellow demons tore her apart.” Yes, he knew all about it and yet... “Mundus says farewell, hybrid filth.” He suddenly stopped caring about what he knew.

Dante jumped and with a scream, unsheathed his sword to slash the arm that was holding Y/N. An impulsive move, a mistake he realised only too late, when the demon pierced the soft neck of the one he loved the most with his sharp claws in an attempt to protect himself from the demonic blade.       Everything went so quick to Y/N and yet so slow to Dante. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even have time to realise what was going on or to process the sudden pain. She only understood something was wrong when her body hit the floor and she saw Dante’s icy blue eyes widen and stare at her in horror. Then she felt the blood, her blood she was quite certain of it, running along her pale skin covering it in shades of dark red.                   Dante screamed like never before, like no human could, so loud the walls trembled and the demon slightly bowed down in fear. He screamed with an anger, a rage he didn’t know he was capable of, something so deep and passionate he never thought was in him. Something fiery … something … demonic. It felt like his skin was burning, like there was a ravaging fire spreading, growing in his body, menacing to burst, to combust him. And it almost did. It almost did but it stopped just when Rebellion sliced the head of the demon open, spilling his brains and his blood on the walls behind him.   Then, there was a relief that all this was over. The fight. The fire. The fear…  No not the fear!

“Y/N” Dante ran to her and quickly pressed her body against his. His hand found her neck to apply pressure on her bloody wound. She was barely conscious but she was still with him. “I’m so sorry, baby. Hold on, I got you.” He kissed her forehead. It was so cold against his lips. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Dante stayed by her side for what seemed hours to him, holding her tight against him, trying to keep the weakening life in her safe, when finally blue and red lights began to flicker in the bedroom. What happened next was so blurry. All he could make out were a group of men dragging Y/N from his embrace, saying they would take care of her and that he had to let her go. He didn’t know how he did it but he eventually obeyed those men, in spite of his arms trying to reach for her.         He followed them- followed Y/N- to the crowded street where the nearby residents were crammed into, whispering and trying to take a peep at what was going on in this usual very quiet neighbourhood. But he didn’t care about them or their judgmental looks. All he cared about was Y/N being taken away in an ambulance.   The paramedics didn’t let him in. And in spite of how much he wanted to fight their decision, Dante chose not to. He couldn’t delay them. Y/N’s life depended on time and too much had been wasted already.

But he found her again, like he would always find her, and he spent days waiting for her to wake up, waiting for her beautiful (colour) eyes to open again, for her sweet voice to say she was alright, his hand holding hers in an eternal grip that only her awakening could break, days in which he had to think about what happened, about what could have happened and what will happen. So many hypothesis, each one worse than the last.       And when Y/N finally awoke and, with a soft smile that bear no grudges or hatred, said. “Hey handsome.” He did what he thought he should have done days ago. “We need to end this.”

***

Patty’s eyes were glowing with tears as she was staring at Dante without blinking. This was certainly the saddest love story she had ever heard in her entire life. Even Bolero in Spring had never made her feel so much. “You can’t do that!” She declared as if in denial, as if she could change the past. “The story can’t end like this!”    “But it is not a story, Patty. This is not some television show made to satisfy a bunch of hopeless romantic little girls. It’s real life. And real life is tough and …” Dante looked at Y/N, at her sad eyes and at the scar she was trying to conceal under a red silk scarf. “What’s done cannot be undone.” “But you loved each other!” The girl was almost furious, shaking her head nervously.              “Patty.” Dante said calmly.       “And you still love each other, I’m sure of it. I can tell by the way you both tell your story.”   “Patty.” Dante repeated with insistence this time.     “I won’t have this ending! No way!” She shouted with a deep frown.                  “It has already ended!” Dante screamed and Patty froze. He had never screamed at her, never in his entire life, even in times when she was incredibly annoying. He had never screamed at her. “It has ended. And neither you nor anyone can change it, okay? If it doesn’t please you, you can leave, wait in the car and go back to your mushy love series.”

There was a pregnant silence in which Patty stared at Dante with a disappointment he had never witnessed. “Y/N was right. You know how to fight demons. But you don’t know how to fight YOUR demons.” And she got up and left the house to do exactly what her beloved friend had told her, meaning wait in the car to go back to mushy love stories, leaving Dante and Y/N alone in the living room with nothing else but a heavy discomfort.

“I’m sorry for making a scene.”                “ Well, you always had a flair for the dramatic.” They both had a conspiratorial smile similar to the ones they used to share when they were younger except it was fainter, sadder. “ She read the letter, the one you wrote me” Dante said staring at his hands in discomfort. He couldn’t look at Y/N, not with all the memories rushing in his head.                  “ I figured.” But she looked at him, excepting deep down he would say something, anything about what happened.”Never thought you would have kept it though.”               “ Why not?”       “ You never replied.” And there it was, that disappointment Dante well deserved.   “I did reply. I just never sent the letter.” Y/N's eyes slightly widened at this unexpected confession. What did he mean by that?              “Huh, words of advice. After writing a letter to someone, you need to mail it.” She declared sarcastically, not really knowing how she managed to crack such a joke. Was it a joke? Maybe, because Dante laughed a bit.       “ I had no money to buy a stamp.” The girl scoffed. She knew the man before her all to well to know that this was “Bullshit.” But she had missed it, missed him.  “What did it say?”          “ Same crap I told you at the hospital. How much I was sorry and … You know what? … There.” He opened his red coat to take a crumpled letter from his inside pocket. It was unsealed, stamped –obviously- and her name and address were written on it.                “ I hope Devil May Cry will never provide delivery service cause this has clearly arrived way too late.” However she took it in her hands, gathering all her inner strength not to tremble as she could feel all those emotions shaking inside of her.  “ Years too late. You can say it.” Dante smiled as he watched the letter he had kept to himself for so many years finally reaching its long-awaited recipient.  “I don’t expect you to read it … or open it. You can actually turn it into a paper plane or shove it down my throat if you want. I won’t fight you.” Of course he had to joke, to play it cool but she didn’t mind. She knew it was just one of his defence mechanism and she couldn’t blame him for it.      “ So why giving it to me?” Dante shrugged, refusing to admit he did want her to read what his young 19 years old self had to say, what he still had to say. “You can’t stop with the devil-may-care for a second and admit what you truly want, what you truly feel, can you?”     “ Fight my demons, huh?” He quoted her and she nodded. “Yes. Would that be so complicated for a ‘menacing devil hunter’ like yourself?” It was her turn to quote him but that quote made him melancholically happy.                   “ I guess that’s a challenge I still can not face.”              “ Or don’t want to” There was a new pause and as they finally looked at each other’s eyes, they knew they would not fix what had been broken years ago today. He was not ready. Not yet anyway. And that was okay. Y/N was patient. She could wait. She could keep waiting.     “Goodbye Y/N” Especially when this time a kiss on her forehead and a hand on her cheek felt more hopeful than ever. “Goodbye, Dante.”

And she watched him leave, again, but certain that someday, one day he would come back to her as he always would. After all, he promised.